Rainy
by Charmisjess
Summary: A seemingly easy mission goes horribly wrong for Padawan Qui and Master Dooku as they struggle to battle an insane adversary, poisons and curses, and an awful lot of rain.
1. A Very Routine Mission

**Author's Note: **Wow, three years of loyal steadfast membership…but then one ignores for a month or so and they change everything on you! For the better, I'm sure. Alright, this is my latest catastrophic epic fic, um, drama, adventure, humor and much, much angst to come, so warnings. But have you ever really read a fic of mine without angst?

**Dedicated to: **The talented Lady **Jurious**, because she made Qui/Dook adventure fics _cool. _

Happy reading!

**A strange and marvelous thing, the rain. Refreshing, gloomy, oppressive, watering, cleansing, dismal, healing, quiet and loud all jumbled up together in a downpour of life. It is, quite simply, the pure essence of growth itself. The clouds bruise the sky, and the thunder threatens, but after the rain flood comes, what's left behind is shining. Rain is growing up. **

"Master!"

The irregular clomp of boots echoed down the hallway of the grand palace of Trisstar. The high-ceilinged design of the long, marbled hallway magnified even the most dainty of steps; running was elevated to chaotic clatter. The sound of the footsteps increased, and then briefly paused, only to resume a few seconds later at a slower, more casual pace.

Dooku finally stopped, flashing a bemused half-smile and turning around to face his apprentice. "Did we not have words about running indoors, Qui-Gon?"

The younger Jedi closed the distance between himself and his mentor at a quick trot, his face coloring. "You left me in the negotiations room, Master." His voice was embarrassed, slightly hurt. "I didn't know where you had gone..."

The Jedi Master raised his eyebrows briefly, and then motioned for his Padawan to follow. "I told you we were leaving, but you were too busy gawking at the princess to notice. So, I assumed you would just realize it eventually and catch up. As you have."

"I wasn't 'gawking,' Master." Qui-Gon replied cooly, falling into step with Dooku. "I was observing. She's one of the royal family, and we're assigned to protect them. I should at least know what they look like.."

Dooku's smile broadened.

Qui-Gon frowned at him and then burst out, "and she's only, what, fifteen...sixteen?"

"Something like that." Dooku said, laughing softly. "Only a rough three something year difference, and what is time, really?"

"No, Master." Qui-Gon mumbled, shooting him as frosty a look as he dared. The boy wouldn't properly glare at his Master out of respect, Dooku knew, but the disdainful sulk was as close as it came.

The Jedi Master clapped him lightly on the shoulder, and offered a placating smile. It wasn't often that he took to teasing his Padawan like this, but he felt something ought to be done to lighten the oppressive severity Qui-Gon had adopted of late. The boy was tired; they both were, of course, but Qui-Gon was taking it the worst. It seemed that the galaxy would not let him up for even a moment. They had hardly time at all to heal the wounds from their last disastrous mission-gone-wrong on Childor before being thrust into another situation.

But this mission would be different, Dooku told himself. It was a simple election on Trisstar. He was hoping a nice, straightforward assignment like this would be what Qui-Gon needed to shake off the darkness of the past few months. Even Jedi required a break sometimes. Even the best.

For his part, however, the boy was not playing along. He gave Dooku an irritated glance, his brow furrowing. "That rough four something year difference is enough. I think perhaps not."

"She not your type, mm?"

He rolled his eyes at his Master and kept walking.

"No one's your type." Dooku sighed, giving up. "So, how do you like the palace?"

Qui-Gon reached out, brushing the pinkish stone walls lightly as he walked. The indignation was gone from his voice; he was every part the dutiful Padawan again. "Beautiful," he murmured. "They've certainly invested a good amount of money to make their royal estate this lovely."

Dooku nodded. "The ruler's quite a character. And you must admit, his daughter is lovely. This whole planet seems to have such an idyllic setup, don't you think?"

"A bit too idyllic," Qui-Gon commented, exhaling a sigh.

"Your thoughts, then?" Dooku raised his eyebrows higher still at his apprentice.

"Well, if it was truly an ideal world, we wouldn't be here, would we?" Qui-Gon shrugged. "But I suppose you're right. There isn't much that can go wrong at an election where the ruler is the people's hero. But something always does, doesn't it?"

Dooku turned a corner and they found themselves in a new corridor. All along the rose walls hung long, gilded mirrors, running the length of both sides. The Master paused beside a ornamented doorway; a break in the reflective rose quartz walls. "If it didn't, what would you and I do to amuse ourselves?" he smirked, punching a security code into the lock. The door hissed open, and he motioned for his Padawan to go in.

"...I'm not sure, maybe something involving something other than shooting, torture, or death, just for _once_?" Qui-Gon mumbled, stepping through the threshold and into the guest quarters with another hefty sigh. "Not that a dangerous struggle for one's life doesn't have its own-oh-!" He stopped suddenly short.

Dooku walked straight into his Padawan from behind and stumbled. "What's..." Frowning, he placed his hands on Qui-Gon's shoulders, regaining his balance and carefully steering around him. He leaned forward, staring into the quarters to see what had so captivated the boy's attention. "What's the matter?"

"It's...so..._nice_," Qui-Gon said, motioning around him, eyes reflecting how boyishly impressed he was. "Look at the view!"

Dooku stepped inside, nodding appreciatively. Qui-Gon was right. The guest quarters were as ornate and lavish as the rest of the palace. They had stepped into some form of connecting common room, furnished with plush crimson couches and matching curtains. The marble walls were covered with paintings and tapestries. On one end of the room a large fireplace splashed warm, flickering light over the floors, and seemed to coat the room in a rosy glow. Opposite the fireplace stretched a great window that looked down into the rainy palace gardens.

"Impressive." He noticed two doors on either side of the chamber. "Those must be the bedrooms."

Qui-Gon's brows drew together in concentration as he looked around at the ornamented furniture. "...I wonder how much this room alone cost..."

Dooku shook his head in amusement at his dazzled apprentice. "Why don't you go take a look at it all?" he suggested, sinking into the inviting warmth of one of the couches. He watched Qui-Gon head off with a lingering smile. Qui-Gon was so wonderfully naive about some things. Dooku had long ago jaded to the novelties and pleasures of rich palaces. Once you saw one, you had really seen them all, and the more you saw of them the less charm they possessed. Usually it meant a greedy ruler as well, and more work for him in the long run. But Qui-Gon was still rather young. And they both did so desperately need a break.

Leaning back, Dooku stared into the flames of the fireplace, listening to the sound of doors opening and boots clattering on marble floors as his padawan inspected the bedrooms. Those ridiculous boots of Qui-Gon's! He'd recently grown out of his old ones, but apparently didn't quite fit in the new ones either. He listened to their echoing footfalls with vague interest wondering idly how much more the boy would grow before he finally settled into a shoe size. He was almost as tall as Dooku now as it was. Suddenly the Master felt disturbingly parental.

And yet it was a familiar feeling of late. He had grown closer than he thought he could to the lad.

His thoughts were interrupted, however, when one of the doors hissed opened and Qui-Gon appeared again, apparently having completed his tour. "This place is enormous," the padawan commented, still looking slightly bewildered. "Do...do they realize there's only two of us?"

Dooku rolled his eyes at the ceiling and adopted a mock serious expression. "Qui-Gon, come now. We're in the Great Rose Palace of the Standing Monarch of Trisstar! Of _course_ it's grand. What else would the good ruler do in his spare time?" He rose as suddenly as he had seated, pacing to the window and gazing out of it.

"Yes, the Monarch doesn't seem to have much else but the title, does he?" Qui-Gon commented, following his Master a few steps before pausing, hesitantly. "Don't you think it's odd? He's such an unassuming character for a planetary ruler."

Dooku plucked a purplish fruit from a bowl resting on one of the ornamented tables, twirling it idly. "I suppose. Still, the people appear to love Fortin, and the election forecasters seem to all be betting on his Royal House remaining in power. He must be doing something right." He tossed the fruit in the air and caught it deftly.

"I'm not sure I completely understand Trisstar's government system. Fortin is a king, and yet, they're holding elections?"

"To decide if his family is to remain in power another term, or if another family should replace them. It's a bit complicated. Ah, well, you can ask him all the questions you'd like tonight. He's invited us to a dinner or some foolishness in the ballrooms downstairs..." Dooku stopped, turning to give Qui-Gon an appraising look. "...personally, I'd suggest you shower. And do try to look somewhat presentable and well-mannered." He turned back away, continuing to toss the fruit.

Qui-Gon nodded and quirked a small grin. "I'll do my best."

"Splendid," Dooku whirled without warning and hurled the fruit at his apprentice with all his strength. The purple orb whizzed straight for Qui-Gon's face. "Now, don't blink!"

Qui-Gon didn't.

A moment passed, and there was no impact. The boy glanced down in mild interest at the fruit, which was now floating centimeters from his nose, suspended in the air with the force. He watched it hover for a moment, and then carefully floated it back to the original bowl. It dropped amongst the other fruit with a soft thud, and Qui-Gon looked up at Dooku expectantly.

The Jedi Master began to laugh. "_Excellent_ instincts, Padawan! Quite impressive! Although you cheated–you were supposed to catch it!"

Qui-Gon shrugged, and flashed a brief smile. "So try again."

"No, no, no..." Dooku smirked at him, nodding toward the fruit. "I shouldn't be teaching you to play with food."

The boy raised his eyebrows at his Master in response.

Dooku snorted. "And besides, now you're expecting it. I'll get you later, when you've forgotten. Now run along and shower, that silly dinner is in a few hours." He started toward his own room, still shaking his head and smiling.

"Anything else, Master?" Qui-Gon paused.

Dooku put his hand to the door and thought for a moment. "Oh yes, just one more thing." He looked the boy in the eyes seriously. "While we're here do try to have some degree of fun."

Qui-Gon's laughed echoed softly as the door hissed closed. For a moment there was silence from the doorway, but then Dooku heard a clunk, followed by a faint clattering noise. He allowed himself a small smile. He could imagine quite clearly the boy's attempt to work the quarters ornate shower. For all his grace and dignity, Qui-Gon simply wasn't an indoor creature. Which was a pity, because he cleaned up so well. He would make a perfect diplomat to kings, or a representative of the Jedi to the Senate with his smooth subtly. And could he argue! Dooku sighed, wistfully. But it would never be. Perhaps he was too raw, too alive, too much of a free spirit to ever be the perfect Jedi that Dooku knew he could be. There was not a cage built by person or ideal that could hold him.

In a far off way, he reminded Dooku a tiny bit of himself.

The Jedi Master strode to the window and pressed a hand against the glass, peering out at the pouring rain. Perhaps he would take a bit of a walk, to calm his mind before this banquet. Social affairs were such irritating things to Dooku, such a depressing waste of his valuable time. And yet, it would be rude to refuse. And it _was_ a casual way of learning about what attitudes and agendas they would have to face on their mission. He always told Qui-Gon: a half-hour of direct experience was worth eight hours of research.

The door hissed again as Dooku walked back out of the apartment and into the main hallway again. He meandered down the rose stone floors for a good bit, neither knowing where the hall would take him, nor caring. His mind wandered pleasantly as he went. Dooku thoroughly enjoyed his own company. Even walking with his usually quieter Padawan was no substitute for the golden silence of his own thoughts. He was content on his own, one of the reasons he had been loath to take another apprentice in the first place. Of course, that had been before Qui-Gon slammed full tilt into his life.

The hallway divided out, and he turned down another stretch. The palace was a huge honeycomb of different passages and foyers, all interconnecting somehow. After taking one or two more turns, he found himself in a wide, high ceilinged type of conservatory, the roof and walls completely made of glass. Rain danced down on all sides, and he could see through the foggy curtain the vague shapes of a forest of plants.

Dooku liked the room. The greenish hues and the drumming of the rain created a soothing effect, and he leaned against the giant window, almost relaxing. There must have been hundreds of rooms like this in the palace, never used and seldom visited. It was very still here. It would be a good place to meditate. He closed his eyes with a soft sigh, intending to do just that.

"A Jedi comes to hide in the spiders nest. Oh, irony." A strange, whimsical voice made him start and whirl. His narrowed gaze raked the room, as his heart battered against his chest. To be startled was a rare and unpleasant experience for Dooku. Inwardly he cursed himself. He ought to have immediately sensed that he was not alone.

Then he caught sight of her. A woman was seated cross-legged on a stone bench. Her silver shimmersilk gown spilled down onto the rose marbled floors, and her head was lowered. She seemed amused. Dooku felt himself stiffen. He was not one to be mocked. "I was unaware I had disturbed any..." his lips gave a wry twist. "...'nests,' as you say. Apologies, I shall take my leave..."

The woman looked up. He found himself regarding a pair of violently pink eyes, outlined with sliver eyeliner and mascara. Her hair was cropped short into spiky white-blonde tufts, and her skin was almost transparent. Dooku found himself staring. She was an albino.

The woman stood in a fluid movement and a light laugh. "Oh, there is no need. It is such a lovely room, is it not?" She did not wait for him to answer. "Fortin built it singularly for me, to mediate in. But feel free to use it if you would like," she smiled, revealing pointed teeth. "anything for a Jedi."

Dooku barely resisted rolling his eyes. He forced himself to smile, or, at the least, grimace painfully, and nodded at her. "Thank you for your hospitality." He turned away, heading to the door. He had better things to do than exchange words with an egomaniacal concubine.

"Are you leaving so soon, Master Jedi?" she breezed toward him, her silver-lined eyes flickering over his form. Her lip curled slightly, and her tone became simpering, sickly sweet. "But I was hoping we might have a teeny chat."

Dooku paused, folding his arms over his chest. "I'm ah-charmed, of course," he gave the woman the flat, unimpressed look he usually reserved for when Qui-Gon was being particularly exasperating, all the while edging for the door. "...but I am a Jedi, as you have so keenly observed, and as such, I have many duties and responsibilities to attend to. Perhaps some other time."

"Do you realize exactly who I am?" Her nostrils flared slightly, as if being turned down for anything was overly upsetting. She took a few steps forward, her stance intimidating. Her pink eyes were bright with intensity.

Dooku had been often warned as an initiate to think before he spoke, although he never quite understood what the Masters were speaking of. Quite the contrary, he made a point to think before he spoke, for wasting time on meaningless or useless prattle was a damnable sin to his mind. He pondered through exactly what phrase would best defame, belittle and deflate the arrogant buffoons that so often crossed his path. Words could be as elegant weapons as lightsabers, if used properly.

Now, though, he hesitated. Not think about what to say, he chided himself, think of the repercussions. He really ought not to make more enemies, for Qui-Gon's sake at least. Some point along the line Qui-Gon was the one that usually ended up getting hurt as a result of Dooku's revenge obsessed foes. He forced himself again to smile at the woman. "No, I don't know who you are, I'm sorry. The wife of the Monarch, perhaps?"

The woman sniffed arrogantly, somewhat like a placated child. "Hardly. Fortin's wife died years ago."

Dooku raised his eyebrows. That he hadn't known. "Really? I was unaware."

"Yes, right after the princess was born." She answered abruptly, redirecting the conversation back to herself. "I suppose your guess was a valid one, however, for I am second heir after the Monarch's princess. My name is Des Lasteera, High Priestess to the Monarch." She lowered her eyes confidentially. "I am Fortin's most trusted advisor."

"Ah, I see." Dooku's smile was both ingratiating and sardonic. "How long have you held that position? It's odd, I didn't read anything about you in the briefing on the Royal Household."

"I have served Fortin's House since they came to power forty years ago!" She rapped out, her ivory skin blushing over with fissures of pale pink. "I should hope that I am mentioned in a political overview!"

"That does sound logical." Dooku nodded slowly. He could hear her breathing accelerated in anger, and felt like sighing hopelessly. He peered out at the rain, wondering if it would be considered rude if he left at this point.

"I..." she paused, still flustered. "...I shall see to it that your information is updated."

Dooku continued to gaze out at the rain. "Fantastic."

Des Lasteera was silent a moment, and for a flickering instant Dooku felt hope of ever leaving her presence flare inside him. Then she spoke again, randomly. "Holy man, Fortin."

Dooku turned from the window. "What's that?" He noticed that her vibrant pink eyes had turned to slits, carefully trained on him.

"I said, Fortin is a very holy man. Something about losing his young wife, I'd imagine." The priestess' lips were parted slightly, Dooku could see her bared teeth. Her voice was would-be casual, with underlying strain. "It seemed to remind him of our gods and rituals. It has become his obsession, as it well should be. I suppose that is how I came to have such a high position in the Rose Palace originally, none can interpret the signs and wishes of the gods as a seer such as I."

"Of course," Dooku smirked.

Her intensity seemed to increase at his words. "Fortin will trust whatever the gods speak to me. My word is almost infallible to him. Do you understand what I'm saying, Jedi?" She gritted out, her meaning unable to miss. For a moment, she stared at Dooku. Then she turned away, her dress trailing after her footsteps, her voice soft and low. "...yes, holy man Fortin, very spiritual, holy man..."

Dooku turned on his heel, whirling out of the room, the sound of his boots drowning out the soft swish of her gown. His irritation carried him out of the room, but as soon as the coolness of the stone hallway touched his face, he felt deflated. He was still working out what the exchange had been. Pompous ranting, a warning, a threat? His feet felt leaden as he headed back to the quarters. All he knew was this mission didn't seem as simple and carefree as it had when he had begun his walk. These things never were, as much as he had wished for his weary padawan's sake that they could be. He sighed, and glanced back toward the room, feeling Qui-Gon's gloomy black cloud of doom hanging low over his head, heavier than ever.

…..tbc…soon, actually, I have most of chapter two done if my creative-author-ego-momentum thing keeps up! Hope you enjoyed the first installment.


	2. Smoke and Mirrors

**Chapter 2: **Of Mirrors and Smoke

'

Okay, lame chapter title, but hopefully they'll get better as I go. Couple comments to reviewers before we get started---

**The Dancing Cavalier**Oh thank you so much:D You're so kind to say so, I'm very flattered. I'm glad you're liking Qui and Dook…they don't have as big a fanbase as say, Qui and Obi, so it's good to see some support for them. 

**Juri: **blushes Oh, I'm so relieved you like my Dook. I had so much angst trying to get him right here, this is the first really full-length mission I've dragged him through. Oh, and of course the dedication! You're the Dook Master!

**Athenaness: **lolol, I'm glad you liked the fruit. I could just see that so clearly in my head, and I was worried about it coming out right. Thanks for your review, I much appreciate it, lol, glad it was just as good twice.

Chapter 2 now…

'

Qui-Gon regarded his reflection in the mirror with forced concern. 'Look presentable,' Dooku had asked of him, but he never specified how exactly that was to be accomplished. Qui-Gon's concept of appearances and Dooku's were rather different.

Futilely, he flattened his hair down with water and leaned back to observe the effect. He had tried, honestly tried to keep his hairstyle short and padawanish, but being dragged from one end of the galaxy to the other didn't allow a lot of time for hair cuts. At the moment, his hair was shorter, just hanging down to his ears; too long to look tidy, too short to sweep up into a Dooku-style ponytail. He sighed, blowing his bangs out of his eyes. It needed to be cut or...something. But as skilled as Dooku was with a lightsaber, Qui-Gon wasn't letting him ever try to cut his hair.

For a long moment, he toyed with the idea of trying to trim it himself, but then, no, it was almost time to go, and he still had to knot the perpetual Padawan braid.

Abruptly, Dooku appeared in the doorway, apparently back from his walk. Qui-Gon noticed that his Master looked bit bothered about something, presumably him. He turned around, offering a sheepish smile. "I'm almost ready, sorry Master."

Dooku leaned against the door frame and smiled. "Don't worry about it, I've still got to get changed as well, and there isn't anything wrong with being fashionably late." He stroked his dark goatee thoughtfully. "It creates a certain effect...a panache, if you will..."

"Very distinguished...a certain...lack of punctuality, yes, yes, I agree, quite becoming..." Qui-Gon smirked, untangling the long plait of hair that was usually braided into the symbol of his training.

Dooku wagged his finger reprovingly. "Do not mock that which you do not understand, young one." He gave Qui-Gon a solemn look of mock disdain. "It's no fault of mine that somehow none of my natural elegance has been impressed upon you."

Qui-Gon laughed softly. "Indeed, young one now am I? So then, accordingly, may I call you old one?"

"Impertinent wretch," Dooku snorted, reaching out to still Qui-Gon's fumbling with his braid. "Now, hold still." He began to braid rapidly. The symbolic Padawan braid seemed to form itself under his quick fingers, smooth and remarkably untangled. He tied off the braid with a small elastic band and then pulled away to skeptically appraise. "Right, let me see." Dooku paced around the boy, reaching in to dust lint off his navy blue dress tunic, or smooth his hair down futilely. He paused again. "And your hands?"

Impatiently, Qui-Gon presented his hands for inspection, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

At last, Dooku nodded to him in mild approval. "Yes, I suppose that will do...but before we go scrub out those nails...how you get so grimy, the Force only knows...but I suppose you've cleaned up well enough. I'm going to go get changed."

Qui-Gon nodded, and Dooku swept off to find his dress tunic. The young Jedi scrubbed at his nails for a few moments more before finally giving up with disgust. He flicked his hands to rid them of the excess water and wiped them dry on his pants. They looked good enough.

Finally Dooku glided out of his half of the quarters, his best look of elegant aloofness in place. He had chosen a loose shirt, deep maroon, offset with a black cloak for his evening attire. As he moved, the Master caught up his dark hair into a short ponytail, and it swished behind him when he walked. Somehow, seeing Dooku dressed up like this was unsettling to Qui-Gon. Perhaps it was just that he looked so different without his Jedi robes; he even moved differently. Qui-Gon didn't quite recognize him at first. It was...odd, that, for just one moment, he didn't look like Dooku, the Jedi Master..._his_ Jedi Master, but someone entirely different. Someone he didn't know, and would never, ever know.

"Ready?" Dooku asked crisply, nodding to the boy, and effectively breaking through his reverie. He was his Master again now, staring down at him in his half-skeptical, half-amused smirk, reservation of nature met against genuine fondness in the contradiction that was Dooku.

Qui-Gon grinned and fell into step with him. "I am, Master." Master. No matter what, that would remain the same. No matter what trick of the light avatars faded over Dooku, he would always be his Master, that he knew without any doubt.

They started off out the door, and down the rose hallway toward the ballrooms. As they walked, their reflections strode parallel to them by way of the long polished mirrors that stretched along a portion of the marble walk. Qui-Gon glanced at the gilded surface and nudged his Master's arm as they went. His dark blue eyes were full of humor. "We look good, don't we?"

Dooku glanced sideways, and then down at Qui-Gon with a slightly raised eyebrow. "I truly do need to get you out more."

Qui-Gon laughed, and shrugged. "Maybe. I'm only saying."

Dooku paused momentarily, taking a moment to study the reflection himself. "We do look nice..." Abruptly he snorted. "But in this case, appearances are deceiving. Well," he amended. "_I'm_ not nice. You're alright though, I suppose—what?"

Qui-Gon didn't reply, in fact, didn't even appear to have heard. He was staring into the mirror intently, as if trying to look through them to some secret hidden in the polished surface.

"What is it?" Dooku placed a hand on his shoulder and peered at the mirror in confusion. His eyes narrowed. "Qui-Gon?"

The sound of his own name brought Qui-Gon out of his stupor with a sudden snap as shattering glass. He blinked for a moment, and then whirled around, staring behind them down the deserted hallway, the way they had come. For a heartbeat, he stood there, frozen, staring down the empty air. "Oh..." he murmured abruptly, rubbing his head, and turning back to his Master. "I...just...just now, I thought I saw something."

"Where?" Dooku whirled, his expression suddenly serious.

"Uh..." Qui-Gon motioned hesitantly. "...in...in the mirror."

"In the mirror...?" Dooku repeated slowly. He took a step forward and peered into the reflective glass. When he saw only his reflection staring back, he turned to his Padawan. "What..ah..._kind_ of something?"

Qui-Gon was silent for a long moment. He looked at the mirror again, and then back down the hall, searchingly. "I...don't..." His eyes darted back up to Dooku, wide with confusion.

Dooku raised his eyebrows in question.

"Don't worry about it," the boy sighed, and abruptly started walking again, shaking his head as if to clear it. "it's probably nothing. I'm...I'm just..." he waved Dooku off. "don't worry."

Dooku caught up with his Padawan in two quick steps and took him by the shoulder, turning him around. "No. Qui-Gon, it's never 'nothing' with _you_. What did you see?"

Qui-Gon reluctantly pointed in the mirror. "It...it just looked like someone was following us, I only saw a flash of something, I probably imagined it." Dooku turned and stared down the hallway. Qui-Gon shrugged. "See-but there couldn't be anyone tailing us, the hallway is empty. It must have been a trick of the light."

For a long contemplative moment, the hall was silent. Then Dooku nodded slowly, continuing to watch behind them. Finally he turned, regarding Qui-Gon somberly. "Well, if there was anything, it's gone now. But I trust your feelings on this sort of thing, Padawan. Keep your eyes open."

Qui-Gon nodded and tried to smile, but he was shaken, that much was plainly clear. They continued down the hallway in awkward silence.

After what seemed like a very uncomfortably long time, the corridor with the mirrors ended, and Dooku took another turn down one fashioned with more pearly pink marble. It was around this point that Qui-Gon realized he really didn't know where they were going; all the interconnecting passages were almost impossible to navigate. Dooku seemed confident in the direction they had taken, and so he followed without word, silently trying to keep track of all the different turns and rooms.

Eventually they spilled out into an large indoor garden, and Dooku nodded that they should pause. The room was similar to the Room of a Thousand Fountains at the Jedi Temple, floral and lush with a few pools and fountains. All around them the trademark Trisstar roses surrounded them, pale pink swarms of color in bushes and trees and climbing up the walls. The flowers gave off a powerful fragrance, like heated, heavy perfume, filling the room. They seemed to thicken the very air.

Qui-Gon sighed and sat down on a carved bench, burying his head in his hands. Dooku gave him a half-smile, and dropped down beside him. "You look pale. I thought I would give you a minute to compose yourself before we have to go in."

"Go in?" The boy glanced up in question.

"These are the Blushing Gardens...the main ballrooms are just through there," Dooku pointed. "Are you sure you're going to be alright?"

Qui-Gon was silent a moment, simply breathing, and then he stood in a fluid motion. He paced across the path and studied one of the rose blooms with weary eyes. "I'm just starting to get a bit of a headache."

Dooku snorted. "Splendid. What you need is a ballroom full of chattering loud dignitaries, with music and dancing and chaos. That will do nicely, I should think." He rose as well, rolling his eyes, and followed his Padawan over toward the roses.

Qui-Gon gave Dooku an obligatory smile in reply, and then crouched down, fingering the petals of a light pink rose. He didn't know what it was that he had seen, but he had seen _something_, and either he was going insane, or...Suddenly, he froze, his fingers stilling on the petals. "Master...I..." he seemed to forcibly relax, and then leaned back toward Dooku. "could you come take a look at this?"

Dooku nodded quickly and stepped over to where the boy was. He crouched beside him, peering into the roses, perplexed. "Hm?" He glanced over at Qui-Gon in question. "What's the matter?"

Casually, Qui-Gon put a hand to Dooku's shoulder and leaned into him, talking quietly and quickly into his ear. "Don't look up now, make as if I'm still talking to you about something else-but we're being watched."

Dooku nodded mildly, as if Qui-Gon had just commented on the weather. "You don't say."

The boy's voice was a proper whisper now. "Do you see the tango tree, the one we passed when we turned down the path? Up in the middle branches." There was a heartbeat of silence in which Dooku glanced and Qui-Gon tapped the plaque and pointed out a rose. Then the Padawan spoke again, breathlessly. "There! Do you see him? Oh, I'm not going crazy after all..."

Dooku nodded once, seemingly engrossed in the flowers before them. Looking smoothly at ease, he reached out and plucked off a pink rose blossom. Then he got to his feet, and then helped the boy up. "We had better get going, or we're going to be very late." He handed Qui-Gon the flower, and clapped him on the shoulder genially, before starting off toward the other side of the garden, in the direction of their spy. "But I'm glad we had this talk."

"But..." Qui-Gon hesitated, staring down at the rose in his hand for a moment, and then quickly trotted after Dooku. "Master, we're not supposed to pick the flowers..."

"Give it to the princess. I'm sure she won't mind." Dooku lingered a moment, enjoying to the fullest the look of confusion and mingled exasperation on his Padawan's face before moving on again. "This way, Qui-Gon."

They moved across the gardens casually, and before long Qui-Gon could see that Dooku was bringing them to the path right under the spy's tree. He felt a little prickle of anxiety move through him. Did Dooku intend to confront the eavesdropper right here, before the banquet? He waited for the Master to reach for his saber, but he did not. The boy sighed. They were almost directly under the tree now. Sometimes he really wished Dooku would let him know their plan before hand.

Without even seeming to move, Dooku suddenly lunged forward. For a moment, Qui-Gon wasn't sure what had happened. Then his Master had the spy by the foot. There was a brief struggle, and Qui-Gon winced as he heard the snap of a tree limb breaking, followed by a distinctively feminine scream.

And then Dooku was standing over a crumpled little figure, the golden beam of his saber poised elegantly over her throat. All in the span of two heartbeats.

Qui-Gon threw himself forward, between the fallen spy and Dooku's blade. "Master!" He held up a hand to the sword, as if that could somehow shield the girl from the hot infinity of a lightsaber. Qui-Gon's gentle blue eyes widened with shameful regret as his motioned down to the still form below him. "Look. She's only a child!"

Immediately, Dooku shut off his saber, more uncomfortable with the precarious proximity Qui-Gon shared to the glowing blade than anything the boy had said. "What?"

Qui-Gon turned, crouching beside the girl, his eyes brimming with anguished pity. It _was_ a child, at least, it looked somewhat like one: a small barefooted creature with a delicate bone structure and an impish little face. Her eyes were squeezed closed at the moment, though she didn't appear to have any visible damage, save a few tears in her simple dress. Qui-Gon began to pick leaves out of her reddish braids anxiously, flicking up heartbroken glances at Dooku in between tending to her. "Have you killed her?"

The boy's tone was a bit accusatory for Dooku's preference. He narrowed his eyes, torn between bafflement and defensiveness. "I...I only pulled her out of the tree. It was just a few feet-she ought to be fine." He blinked at Qui-Gon for a moment, and then continued on hotly. "Anyway, she was spying on us!"

Qui-Gon ignored his Master, much to Dooku's irritation, and instead murmured anxiously to the still girl. His living force empathy could hardly stand the thought of such a tiny creature suffering on his initiation. As he spoke, he reached out into the force and drew up comfort, wrapping it in energy and sending a stream of it flowing into her limp body. "Are you alright? We didn't mean to-" He reached out impulsively to take her hand, but abruptly pulled it back. He gasped softly. "Oh-Master, what..." He held up his hand, bewildered by the sticky substance that now coated it. It was so clear it was almost invisible, but as sticky as anything Qui-Gon had ever touched. His thumb and forefinger stuck effectively together when he wiggled his hand to shake the glue off. "What is it?"

Dooku smiled at the expression of confusion and dawning panic on Qui-Gon's face. "Ah, interesting." He moved around his struggling, sticky Padawan to inspect the girl in front of them. "It seems you've found yourself a Wallwalker, young one."

Qui-Gon stared down at his fingers, where the goo was evaporating, and then back down at the girl. "A...what?"

"Walkwalker. Common creatures from the Blusom system. The tips of their digits are coated with a sticky secretion that enables them to climb up walls and trees and such. I suppose this is probably your ghost from the hallway." He paused, as the girl began to stir, and gave Qui-Gon a bit of smirk. "Incidently, they're supposed to bring bad fortune."

Almost as if on cue, the girl opened her eyes and shrieked out loud.

Dooku moved around Qui-Gon and crouched next to the girl. His eyes were serious as he regarded her. "Alright, my little spy. Who sent you?"

For a long moment, the question hung unanswered in the air between Dooku and the Wallwalker. Then she burst into tears.

"Master, you're scaring her." Qui-Gon sighed, laying a hand on Dooku's shoulder to peer around him.

"She's a spy!" Dooku sputtered at his Padawan, twisting around to glare at him. "–and I'm interrogating her! That's the point!"

Qui-Gon frowned. "But she doesn't mean us any harm. I think it's the wrong way to go about this. I can sense–"

"Alright then, Qui-Gon Jinn." Dooku abruptly stood, shrugging off Qui-Gon's hand. His face was stormy with exasperation and impatience. He dusted the wrinkles out of his tunic with an air of finality. "_Sense_ it out of her then. If you have a better plan, then, by all means," he inclined his head towards the girl and crossed his arms over his chest. "commence at your leisure."

"I'm sorry." Qui-Gon gave his Master a brief, apologetic half-smile. "Just let me try with her, that's all." He leaned in toward the girl, both physically and mentally, sending out a questing tendril of the force, feeling for a foothold in her aura. She was easy to read; he could plainly sense fear, confusion and a tiny flicker of something like curiosity swirling in her mind. But as he had declared to Dooku, there was nothing sinister in her at all.

Curiosity. He would start small.

"Please don't cry, I won't hurt you," he whispered softly, holding out his pink rose to her invitingly. He wasn't sure about how ethical it would be to break into her mind and force her to talk, but he didn't mind willing her to like him a bit. He stretched out the force to her, coloring the energy with comfort and smooth, soothing thoughts. She stopped crying.

Behind him, he heard Dooku hum a little, either in approval or suspicion of his methods. With Dooku, he could never really tell. His smile broadened as she timidly took the proffered rose. "What's your name?"

The Wallwalker looked down shyly. She had very long eyelashes, he noticed, curly, with tears clinging to them. Beyond that, her eyes were very blue, pastel orbs watching him intently. From a distance she had seemed almost human, but up close her features were distinctively alien. She wasn't as young as she seemed either.

"I am not to tell you my name," she said finally, flexing her long fingers anxiously.

"Oh?" Qui-Gon asked, still smiling in bemusement. "and why not?"

"Because no!" she squeaked, dashing the tears from her eyes and scooting backwards, away from him.

"Alright," the Padawan said patiently. He could hear Dooku stalking restlessly behind him, and jumped straight into the point. "well, could you tell me why you were following us, then?"

"No." The girl looked up at him with large, watery eyes and hiccoughed dolefully. She scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. "...the Jedi will have to kill me." she stated abruptly, miserably resigning herself to her fate.

"Mm-hm." Qui-Gon stared at her for a long moment, not quite sure where to go with that. He was somewhat taken aback.

Behind him, Dooku snorted. "Excellent job, Padawan. You were right...your way of interrogating her is much more efficient!"

"We're not going to kill anyone." Qui-Gon continued on hollowly, ignoring Dooku. "We're not going to hurt you, we just want to know why–"

"Just let it go, Qui-Gon..." Dooku rolled his eyes in exasperation. They were losing this round and the Master knew it. He motioned impatiently toward the doorway at the end of the garden, where the ballrooms started. "This is taking too long and going nowhere. We're going to be very late if this keeps up. I don't think we're going to get anything useful out of the creature anyway, we might as well go."

Qui-Gon glanced up at Dooku skeptically. "But we-"

"Priorities, Padawan. It would be very unwise for us to offend our host by arriving late to a banquet honoring _our_ presence on Trisstar. And I doubt that 'interrogating a spy' would serve as a suitable excuse." Dooku interrupted imperiously, lifting an eyebrow at the boy's protest.

Qui-Gon sighed with resignation, getting to his feet. He never had to be told twice. "Yes, Master." He turned back to regard the Wallwalker stiffly. "Oh-you're free to go. But I might stay out of Jedi business for a while, if I were you."

She nodded mutely, still holding the rose, looking somewhat confused as to why they hadn't killed her.

"Good try," Dooku murmured to him, sincerely this time, and steered his Padawan toward the far end of the gardens. There were sounds now coming from beyond the doorway, laughter, music, the noises of a party. They did need to hurry. Qui-Gon glanced back just in time to see the girl sweep up the tree again and out of sight. For a moment, he lingered, staring after her. Then he shook his head slowly, and followed Dooku towards the noise.

'

Will Quigs and Dook survive the challenging and brutal task of _going to a party:O _ Find out…next time! ominous


	3. Kissing and Murder

So, I'm back with an update for you. I hope you all enjoy this chapter; it was the most fun to write so far. I'm short on time-so, I'll just give you the post instead of my usual rambles…

Being as late as they were, Qui-Gon expected their entrance to the party be rather awkward. He imagined walking into the hall to find everyone stiffly seated, obviously waiting dinner on their inconsiderate, tardy guest's arrival. However, his mental picture of how the Monarch's banquet would be was far different from the merry scene that met his eyes as they entered.

No one was sitting down, and it seemed that their absence was hardly noted at all. Guests, dignitaries and palace staff mingled together in a colorful sea of beings around the great dining hall. The hall itself was very impressive. The room was designed like a great glass ball stretched out over the gardens and overlooking the swollen River of Trisstar. The lights of the party reflected on the unusual glass walls, making the whole room glow like a throbbing gem of color.

Qui-Gon was practically walking on Dooku's heels by the time they had entered the throng of guests chatting, laughing and discussing on the tiled ball room floor. Dooku was an aristocrat; he was deep into his element at this party. He moved gracefully among the other guests, neither stepping on toes or knocking shoulders. Beside him, Qui-Gon felt peculiarly awkward and commonplace. Qui-Gon was oddly tempted to hang on to the back of Dooku's tunic to avoid losing his Master in the crowd.

As they waded deeper into the crush, Dooku was abruptly stopped by a loud yell of delight. The guests around them suddenly moved away, as if clouds parting to reveal a glowing sun. The source of the noise was a short, but energetic little man, with bright, greenish eyes and blondish hair. He opened his arms widely with excitement at seeing Dooku, and two spots of red flush burst to bloom on his chubby cheeks. Qui–Gon might have mistaken him for a random, drunken guest if not for the ornate, overstated crown that quite gave him away as the Grand Monarch of Trisstar.

"Jedi Master!" Fortin cried joyously, advancing on them, and, to Qui-Gon's surprise, he threw an amiable arm around Dooku's neck. It wasn't just the awkwardness that Fortin had hardly been introduced to Dooku and was now hanging on him; Dooku had never really been one for being touched. At the embrace, the Master froze up, his gentle, aloof smile solidifying into a tight grimace. Fortin didn't break the hug, instead, pounding him on the back heartily, totally oblivious to Dooku's discomfort. "You honor us by your presence at my humble banquet!"

Dooku choked out the closest noise to a squeak that Qui-Gon had ever heard him make, as he tried to extract himself from Fortin's strangling grasp and recover his poise at the same time. "It's...our...pleasure!"

Fortin giggled somewhat drunkenly. It was apparent that the party had been going on for a while before the Jedi had arrived. "Marvelous..." He finally released Dooku's neck, and the Jedi Master jerked away convulsively, gasping as if he had been held underwater for the entire while. "And this charming young man, your apprentice, now what did you say his name was?"

Dooku quickly pushed Qui-Gon forward, trying to get as much space and people between himself and the Monarch as possible. "Oh, of course. This is Qui-Gon Jinn, Padawan Learner." He steered the boy into Fortin's handshake.

Fortin enthusiastically pumped Qui-Gon's arm, beaming. "Ah, yes, wonderful! Oh, and I must introduce my advisors to you..." Blinking, he looked around, his face curved downward, comically quizzical. "but where have they gone? Ahh..." He reached into the crowd and almost immediately fished out a tall, longsuffering-looking man from the waves of guests. "There we are! Tormarius! These are the Jedi I told you about!"

Tormarius gave them each a tired smile, seemingly relieved to see them. He looked slightly disheveled, almost ill, but his eyes were kind and steady as he regarded the two Jedi. Qui-Gon found that he instinctively liked him; in spite of the man's slender build he seemed strangely corporeal against all the meaningless glass and glamour of the party. "Gentlemen," he bowed slightly. "It will be a pleasure working with you throughout the election."

Qui-Gon also found it somehow reassuring that someone had actually, for the first time, mentioned the mission they were here to complete. Between their lavish quarters and the parties, it was hard to remember that they were here to do a job. What was more, Tormarius looked to be refreshingly sober.

"Isn't he grand!" Fortin exclaimed, clapping Tormarius on the back as he had done to Dooku. The slender man looked as if he might buckle under the weight of Fortin's enthusiastic slap. "Just grand! The things I could say about dear Tormarius--" and he launched abruptly into a wildly animated story about how Tormarius had been a childhood friend before becoming his advisor, and how clever he was at what Fortin described as "science data chatter."

Qui-Gon glanced up at Dooku to see what he thought of all this, but his Master didn't appear to be listening to Fortin's story at all, instead staring fixedly over the little man's shoulder. Qui-Gon followed his stare until he noticed a tall, slim woman looming in Fortin's shadow.

She cleared her throat, odd pink eyes narrowing.

Fortin paused mid-regale; Tormarius went curiously still. Obviously, they both had heard this cough before. But then Fortin's face split into a delighted grin, and he spun on the spot. "Des Lasteera! You have joined us at last!"

Lasteera returned the smile, flashing dazzling milk-white teeth, but her eyes remained rather narrow. "Monarch, I have been here for many moments already, and will you not introduce me to your lovely guests?"

"Oh-ho! Yes!" Fortin chortled, reaching out a hand to pull her forward, a hand which she swiftly avoided with practiced ease. Behind her, Tormarius vanished into the crowd. "Jedi, this the palace priestess..." She coughed again. "..._and_ of course, my trusted advisor...Des Lasteera! Des Lasteera, meet Master Dooku!"

Dooku and Lasteera stared mistrustfully at each other, as if facing off.

"...and, must not forget, his charming little Padawan, Qui-Gon Jinn!" Fortin finished cheerfully.

"What a beautiful child," Lasteera murmured tonelessly, not even looking at Qui-Gon, but keeping her eyes fixed on Dooku.

"Let's get you lot drinks, shall we?" Fortin lurched forward, and Dooku instinctively leapt back, perhaps afraid that Fortin was going to start snuggling him again. Instead, the Monarch headed unsteadily toward the crystal-clear bar on the far end of the ballroom. By this point, it was taking all of Qui-Gon's skills to turn his laugh into a discrete cough.

Before long, he found himself ushered to a long dining table, drink in hand. Fortin had insisted on sitting the Jedi in the seats right next to him, as a toddler might set up his favorite toys beside him at meal. Qui-Gon immediately took his seat, but Dooku was still lingering back by the bar, looking vaguely sulky. Very slowly, the guests started to fill in the seats around him. He glanced across the room to his Master, who he saw roll his eyes and start toward the table with a resigned air.

As the food was brought out, Qui-Gon glanced around, taking in the other guests around him. Across the table from him, some councilor-types sat in robes, looking arrogantly pleased at their location near the Monarch. Lasteera had found a place a few seats away, and was swirling a glass of pinkish wine vindictively. In the seat next to him was none other than the princess herself. It took him a moment to recognize her though; when he had glimpsed her earlier that day with her father, she had seemed such a timid, mannerly little thing.

Now her extraordinarily large green eyes stared unblinking at him, and her slightly lanky frame was titled so that she could observe him in utmost thoroughness. She seemed completely taken by his image, oblivious to all else as she gawked. It seemed not to occur to her in the least that he may be made uncomfortable by her incessant stare, or that she might look odd staring.

Qui-Gon cleared his throat uncomfortably around the lump of salad he had just crammed into his mouth. He glanced hopefully across the table at his Master for rescue, but Dooku ignoring him, laughing and joking with one of the councilors as if they were old friends. The boy wrinkled his nose. It didn't look like he was about to help him any time soon. But at least one of them was enjoying themselves.

He turned back to the girl, who was still watching him, utensils slackened absently in her hands, mouth slightly open. She was young, but still nice-looking, Qui-Gon thought, if perhaps she would close her mouth and come back to herself. He couldn't truly be that interesting, could he? He attempted a polite smile once he had swallowed the salad. "Hello, have we been introduced?"

"You're a Jedi," she stated dazedly.

"Ah, yes," he chuckled uncomfortably. "And you're a princess, am I correct?"

He didn't really expect her to laugh along, but he was unprepared for the stream of dialogue that burst forth from her skinny body. "Oh, yes, yes I am, well, really, I am, because my father is the Monarch, Monarch mind you-we don't call them kings because of the election of the royal family every period-so I'm not entirely sure my title is princess, but I am set to inherit the throne should our house remain in power-it's an odd system-but-oh! I don't feel even a little bit like a princess, so don't judge me on that, I beg of you, I really am a realistic girl but---stars and planets-----!" Her eyes shone rapturously as she spoke, and she hardly paused to draw breath as she changed subjects midstream. "----you're a Jedi, and that's _spectacular_!"

"Is it?" Qui-Gon asked weakly, before taking another huge mouthful of salad and choking. Dooku shot him a reproving glare from across the table. The boy rolled his eyes. Of course, Dooku noticed immediately when Qui-Gon's table manners faltered for an instant, but sat idly by and allowed his padawan to be talked to death by this strange creature.

"Oh, it is!" She clasped her hands together theatrically. "I've always wanted to meet a Jedi, a real live one, I mean..."

_A 'real live on,' as opposed to the stuffed ones on display in museums?_ Qui-Gon thought darkly.

"...it's terribly exciting that you're here. I've loved Jedi lore since I was very small, you see, you simply must tell me everything there is to know about being one-you know, I know it's true, I am very fortunate to be who I am...but it is a horribly boring life, truthfully." She stopped abruptly, and sighed. "I've always secretly wished I could run away and join the Jedi Order...stars, you've got to tell me how I could become one!." Her odd jade eyes locked again onto his face in a mixture of wistfulness and hope.

Qui-Gon snorted softly into his drink. "Well, first lesson about the Jedi Order is that you're born with it. I suppose you have the force, or you don't. It's not something one can tell, or learn." He glanced up in mild surprise when she didn't begin immediately talking again.

"But-" To his surprise and horror, the girl was suddenly on the brink of tears. "I've...I only wanted to learn about it-you needn't shoot me down so _excruciatingly_!"

Bewildered, the boy watched a fat teardrop bead on her eyelash and then dribble down her cheek. He wasn't sure exactly what he had done to upset her, but obviously he had done _something._ He felt instantly awful, and immediately set about trying to pacify her. "Oh, well, look I didn't mean to be short, I only..." Qui-Gon winced, finishing lamely "...only meant that you should be happy with yourself! You're the person you are for a reason. Besides, the Jedi lifestyle isn't as great as it's glamorized to be." Qui-Gon added with sincerity, giving her a hopeful smile. She looked up at him with shining eyes and parted lips. Dooku across the table gave him a funny look and began mouthing something to him.

"You really think so?" The girl gushed, placing a hand on his arm and looking him in the eyes.

"Of...course... I...what!" Dooku continued to motion at him. Qui-Gon felt himself growing irritated, trying to appease this mad princess and decipher Dooku's random gesturing all against the background noise of the rest of the party. Frustrated, he reached for the force.

_I can't understand you. Just tell me through our bond._

Dooku's tone was strangely merry as the bond connected. For all his complaining and carrying on, it seemed Dooku in fact, liked parties a great deal. His voice sounded cheerful echoing in the boy's mind, exuding patience and fondness together as he gently rebuked his Padawan. _Ah, no, no Qui-Gon. Talking too much through a mental connection unnerves those who are not force sensitive. _

Qui-Gon shot his Master a defiant look across the table. _So?_

_So use it only in emergencies. And learn to read lips. _The light that was Dooku winked out in his mind as his mentor withdrew, and began mouthing words again. Qui-Gon sighed and turned back to the girl, who had recovered her spark.

"So tell me about it all, you must lead such a curious life!" Her face was once again lightened with friendly, delighted curiosity. "What's your name?"

Qui-Gon gave one last despairing shrug to Dooku, and replied dryly. "It's a curious life, alright. Oh, and I'm Qui-Gon." He gave her a little nod.

"Tak." She reached out, seizing his hand with her small one, and pumping vigorously. "Short for Takatrena. Which is entirely to long, wouldn't you say? I just turned fifteen, but they say I'm quite like a little adult, and I'll soon run this place, undoubtedly." She tossed her brown hair, as if she were very pleased with herself for this.

The Padawan smiled at her, bemused. "It's good to meet you." And it really was, he thought. It had been a long time since he had been able to converse with someone roughly around his own age, someone vaguely normal. He loved his Jedi friends dearly, but it was strangely refreshing to meet a young person so sincerely carefree. "But honestly, Tak, my life isn't really that fascinating..."

She turned her head to one side to give him a quizzical look. "But you're a Jedi...and you're quite young, aren't you?"

He nodded, pushing the remnants of his salad back with his fork and leaning back to regard her thoughtfully. "I'm a Jedi in training, and yes, I suppose so-"

"Have you ever fought someone with your lightsaber?" She stared demandingly at him, drinking him in with her greenish, overlarge eyes.

Qui-Gon frowned thoughtfully at her. "Well, of course, but I really don't usually-"

She interrupted him, her eyes shining brighter than ever with enthusiasm. "Have you ever fought a _Sith_?"

"Hardly, I mean-the Sith are extinct-"

"Have you ever been shot at?"

"Yes I-"

"Have you ever been hit by a blaster bolt?"

"Once or twice, but it wasn't really-"

"Have you been held hostage?"

"You might say that-"

"Been in quite few fights?"

"More than I'd chose to remember."

She stopped her sudden barrage of questions for a long moment, continuing to regard him in absorption. She seemed suddenly, as she had said, much older. Her voice, for the first time, held a degree of hesitation. "You've killed people before, haven't you?"

Qui-Gon tried to read her expression. Awe, a degree of uncertainty, some expression of pity, he could find them all there. He looked down at his boots, newly polished for the dinner party, and suddenly realized with blinding clarity why he would never fit in with the non-Jedi populace. Now he fervently missed his friends at the Temple. He finally looked up and nodded. "Yes, I have, when there was no other choice."

She nodded, chewing her lip, and changed topics with the suddenness of a lightning strike. "Have you ever kissed a girl?"

He stared in shock at her sudden turn in conversation. "What!"

"Have you ever kissed a girl?" She repeated, watching him avidly.

He colored. "well-yes, but-"

"_Really?_" She gave him an appraising look, from head to foot. "So, then, along those lines, have you ever—"

The slight color on his cheeks turned to a furious blush. This girl was how old! He smiled weakly, cutting her off before she could finish her sentence. "Ah, I think that's enough questions."

She raised her eyebrows at him in a polite, mild expression. "of course, Qui-Gon." Tak smiled, and returned to her food. For a heartbeat there was silence between them, only broken by the scrape of utensils. Then she nodded toward the head of the table, where Fortin was chatting with his councilors amicably. "You see that woman sitting two down from my father?"

Qui-Gon glanced up. "The white-haired one?"

"Yep, her...Des Lasteera." Tak motioned casually with her spoon, before taking a sip of juice. "You're going to want to keep an eye on her, because she really wants to kill your Master. You too, come to think of it."

Qui-Gon choked on his own drink in surprise.

Tak nodded vaguely. "But don't worry too much about it. She's pretty dumb." She swallowed, and took another drink of juice. "So, who did you kiss? Was it another Jedi? I haven't ever kissed anyone, what's it like?"

He blinked at her rapidly for a few seconds, and then swallowed. "Wait, Tak, could we go back to the part about that woman?"

"What about her?" She folded her arms over her chest, with the air of one explaining a very simple concept to a child. "Lasteera hates Jedi. Always has, she says you're all nosy, and blasphemous, and arrogant, and a lot of other stuff too." She ticked off on her fingers. "Really was upset when my father requested a team for the election. But you know, she hates me too, and she hasn't killed me yet, so like I said, don't worry about it. And my father loves you two. He thinks your Master's funny." Tak paused, overlarge eyes becoming thoughtful. "He _is_ funny, actually. He's very smart, isn't he?"

"Dooku's brilliant." Qui-Gon answered, without a trace of hesitation.

She nodded. "Very handsome too, wouldn't you say?" She tapped her fingernails against her glass thoughtfully. "He must be very popular with the female Jedi, hm?"

Qui-Gon flushed slightly, twirling his fork into his salad once again. "I don't know, he's my Master."

"So?"

"So, I don't really think about him from that perspective a lot, alright?" He shot her an irritated glance and transferred the loaded fork to his mouth.

"You don't?" She raised her eyes and shrugged, as if this was surprising. "Too bad."

"No, not really it isn't." Qui-Gon stabbed his fork through a crouton, and stared at her, musing on the odd girl. He shook his head and took another bite to excuse himself from further discussion on the subject.

Another long silence stretched over their conversation, as they both finished up the meal. Qui-Gon used the break in the incessant talking to take a good look at the strange woman Tak had pointed out.

She was obviously not enjoying herself very much, sitting stiffly, almost painfully erect. Her smile seemed a bit too tight, a bit too forced. Her flamboyant, blazing red party dress was almost ironic, as she seemed to be doing her best to speak to no one. However, it wasn't a shy sort of aloofness, rather perhaps disgust. She did seem to be watching those around her rather carefully, however. Lasteera kept shooting loathing looks at the different council members who laughed a bit too loud for her liking. In fact, she had an unnerving habit of staring at him, too, Qui-Gon noticed, leaning his chair back out of her range.

Behind her, he saw a flicker of movement, and a child-like figure appeared at Lasteera's angular shoulder. His eyes widened in surprise. It was the spy from the garden. There was no mistaking the spindly little form. In fascination, Qui-Gon watched as the girl bent and whispered to the woman. Lasteera snarled something at her and then waved her off quickly, as if fanning away a foul odor.

Qui-Gon nudged Tak with a shoulder. "Who's that Lasteera's talking with?"

Tak seemed eager to redeem herself in his eyes, following his stare and answering quickly. "Oh, the Wallwalker. That's Chekory. She's really creepy, no one in the palace really likes her at all."

Qui-Gon nodded quietly. Chekory. He would have to tell Dooku this. If the spy was associated with one of Fortin's advisors then perhaps the situation in the garden had been more significant than he had guessed. But then the feeling struck him, and his thoughts trailed away.

It came very slowly at first, like the lingering scent of smoke on a breeze, a half-waft of something rotting somewhere close by. A little premonition. A hint of a warning. Then the disturbance grew, swirled and expanded, until the force around him was heavy with it. It was a heady, sick-sweet taste in his mouth. Distinctive. He knew it.

Danger.

His eyes widened, and he dropped his fork.

Across the table, Dooku had gone very still. His hand was under the table, and Qui-Gon knew it was resting on his lightsaber. He had sensed it too.

He was moving before the blaster fired echoed across the hall. Someone screamed, from afar,

"Murder!"

**_Murder in the Grand Palace of Trisstar! Simply unthinkable! Will QuiDook be able to solve it? Will Tak get more annoying! Will Lasteera bite Dooku! Find out next time…which will hopefully be soon, my goal is before the end of August. _**


	4. Because You Never See It Coming

Commenting to my lone reviewer…

**The Dancing Cavalier-- **Thanks so much :D I'm glad you're liking this. Tak was way fun to write, lol, it was good times. Thanks for reading!

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And here's part four!

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Dooku was to his feet before his mind had fully registered the scream.

Around him, the room was only a smear of color as the Master stepped into the hot current of the force. It was as if his perceptions widened and split, until now he could _feel_, instead of seeing, the things around him. The panicky minds of the screaming guests buzzed in his ears. Beside him, Qui-Gon was a bright green glow. He stretched out further, deeper...

Ah. There.

In the gardens.

The signature of mortal fear was jarringly cold against the warm flutter of the party. He moved.

He didn't need to say anything to Qui-Gon, the boy always _knew_, and he could trust him to react accordingly. He raced on, toward the entranceway, near to the gardens, where the sound of the blaster fire seemed to be coming from.

"Master! Destroyers!" Qui-Gon ducked into a roll just in time to miss the barrage of fire that zipped over his head. When he sprang back upright, his saber was out and whirling.

Dooku saw them; five circular droids, each grime-gray, top-of-the-line killing machines. He felt the briefest stab of disappointment of the sight of them. Yes, these were lethal monsters in their own right, but fighting against droids was just so _mundane. _It wasn't very elegant sport, at least. Parry, deflect, and then aim an off blaster bolt back at the thing until it finally exploded. You didn't get to even hit it with your lightsaber.

However, Dooku was abruptly forced to reconsider his position on droid battles as a blast whistled holes through his robes. _Well, then._ He swore, ignited his saber, and moved forward. The droids whirled to face him.

Behind him, he could hear the terrified guests. Dooku had to suppress a smile. He always did prefer an audience.

_But enough exposition. _He stepped into the sudden rain storm of blaster fire with casual grace. _Now matters get interesting._

His lightsaber blurred in his grip as he deflected bolt after bolt. To his surprise, the droids continued to move. He and Qui-Gon were unmatchably quick, but their deflections didn't seemed to be effecting the droids in the least. If this kept up, the droids would be on top of them in mere minutes. They would have them by sheer number. As they drew nearer, Dooku noticed a bluish flicker around their frames that looked ominously like a blast shield.

The droids closed in, circling around them, peppering them with shots from all sides. Dooku could feel himself starting to sweat as he struggled to keep up with the intense crossfire. Qui-Gon moved closer to him, until they were fighting back-to-back, each covering the others flank.

Qui-Gon tilted his head toward him, his boyish face looking grim."We can't keep this up!" he paused, ducking his saber to catch a bolt aimed at his knees. "With all this bouncing around, someone's going to get hit!"

Dooku's eyes narrowed. He had nearly forgotten about the innocent bystanders. Alright. It was time for plan two. So he would get to hit something with his lightsaber after all. "Change of tactic, Padawan! Ignore the blaster fire! Stop them at the source!"

This seemed to be what the boy had been waiting for. They jumped at the droids themselves, this time. Together.

Qui-Gon was orbiting him like an eccentric moon, spinning out above and around with his acrobatic form. As the boy leapt high, Dooku struck low, coiling his unusual blade into the middle of the first droid, while Qui-Gon decapitated the next. They were smoke and wind, cat and bird.

As Dooku clipped away a metal arm, he started to feel the effortless fun of this seep back into him. The easy rhythm of fighting alongside Qui-Gon washed through him like a tide, and he felt himself relaxing, giving up to the fight. His saber moved as a mere extension of his arm. He knew it; this was a battle they were going to win. Spectacularly.

But then, Qui-Gon saw the body.

As if the emotion were his own, Dooku felt the boy's plummeting hesitation and rush of empathy. His green blade dipped, and he moved toward the still form almost as if on instinct. A splash of fire scorched the marbled floor at his feet, but Qui-Gon's attention was completely on the crumpled figure across the room.

"Focus on the task at hand, Qui-Gon!" Dooku barked, hacking irritably at the spark-showering remnant of a droid. "Stay where you are!"

Qui-Gon looked torn. "But Master–"

"We will see to the wounded _after_ the battle!" He yelled over him, rounding on the final two droids. Distantly, he knew it was no use. He had already lost Qui-Gon. That was the problem with his Padawan, his blasted empathy. A Jedi had to face death almost every day, to stare into its very eyes and survive it. There was no time for Qui-Gon's foolish hesitations, for his little side tracks. That was reality. In reality, people died, and he was going to be a sorry Jedi if he lost his head every time. No, he wouldn't be a _sorry _Jedi He would be a dead Jedi.

Dooku tore into the remaining droids with a sort of vindicated-feeling wrath. A little far off corner of his mind admonished him for this, but after all, they were only droids. Next to him he saw Qui-Gon bounce back into the last droid, and after a moment of flutter between them, it collapsed into molten pieces.

And then it was only Qui-Gon and Dooku, standing in the smoky haze of the ruined hall.

Dooku shut off his saber with a flick and turned on Qui-Gon, prepared to vent the bitter, losing feeling the battle had leftover in him on the boy. It was his duty as a Master, Qui-Gon's behavior was unacceptable. He would acknowledge the incident, remind Qui-Gon of what his _proper_ behavior ought to have been, and explain the consequences.

But Qui-Gon was kneeling over the slightly smoking body of Tormarius.

"You're going to be alright, we can heal you..." he spoke quietly, earnestly. "...Master, help me..."

Stiffly, Dooku turned away, and walked slowly toward Fortin and his group, who had descended into shocked silence.

"I can't do this alone...I need your help with him!"

He kept walking.

"Master!"

Dooku whirled. "Qui-Gon, he's _dead!" _

Silence.

Fortin clambered over pieces of droid to Dooku, attempting to peer behind him. A crowd was beginning to gather around one of the destroyed droids.

The Monarch was the first to speak. His voice rose, an excited little squeak over the murmuring onlookers. "Master Dooku–what has happened here! What have you done to my droids! Is that a _body_!"

"Oh, _your_ droids, were they?" Dooku asked grimly.

Fortin looked between Dooku and the scrapped metal anxiously. "Yes, yes, my security droids! Tormarius insisted that I purchase personal security droids for the upcoming election!" He flushed slightly pinker. "In...in addition to the Jedi's protection, of course,"

Dooku rolled his eyes. "Of course."

"...but someone has been attacked! How can this be?" He wrung his hands distractedly, his watery brown eyes growing wider by the second. "Where is Tormarius?---he programmed them himself to obey only a direct command, there must have been some sort of mistake..a glitch...Tormarius!" Fortin was starting to babble as he craned his short neck to peer into the crowd behind him.

"Tormarius is dead." Dooku said quietly, nodding over his shoulder. He lowered his voice further, drawing the Monarch aside. "We will conduct an investigation into this tragedy at..."

"Dead!" Fortin shrieked shrilly, totally ignoring Dooku's attempt to keep their conversation discrete. "By the gods! You think he was murdered? Oh! My advisor has been murdered! Murdered in my own palace!" He stumbled away from Dooku, into Lasteera who had been lurking vulture-like behind them. "We must get the head of security down here at once! Call Zernith and his team!"

"Get these people out of here!" Qui-Gon was suddenly at Dooku's side, waving the crowd away from the carnage. "We need to secure the area, go back to the ball room!"

The crowd slowly moved backward, buzzing with excitement, and Dooku could hear the sound of running footsteps as Fortin's security squad arrived on the scene. The sound of the Monarch's exclamations echoed wildly over the melee. He turned away with a sigh, rubbing his forehead wearily. _So much for the party._

Alone in his bedroom, five hours later, Dooku moodily consulted the ceiling. He could barely distinguish the high vault of it in the wane light from his window, but that mattered very little because it wasn't much of a sight, at any rate. He'd been lying here like this for ages, it seemed, ever since they had gotten back from the disastrous party. He hadn't settled under the coverlet of his sleepcouch, or even bothered to undress. He was so sure that he wouldn't be sleeping, that it seemed rather an unnecessary motion.

That horrid, disastrous party.

Nothing had been established, in the end. A death with no motive to deem murder, no mistake to call accident, no evidence to suggest suicide. It simply didn't add up.

He rubbed his eyes blearily, and went over the events again in his head. There had to be something he had missed.

Why had Tormarius been sneaking out of the party in the first place? Dooku paused over this for a moment. Perhaps the Advisor had been up to something. Perhaps the entire spectacle had been a blotched assassination attempt. But if his intension was sinister, why would he bother involving so much security in the election? Droids were one thing, but Fortin had mentioned that it had been Tormarius who had asked him to request Jedi aide in the first place. If his goal was personal gain, surely he wouldn't stack the odds so highly against himself.

_Of course, it wouldn't be the first time someone underestimated a Jedi,_ Dooku thought wryly.

But somehow, he didn't think so. Dooku had a ridiculous, over-instinctive, Qui-Gon-like feeling that Tormarius had been on their side in all of this.

Dooku sighed into the darkness. Qui-Gon.

He and the boy had walked back to their quarters in silence. At first, he had sincerely not cared that Qui-Gon was upset, either with him or the situation or whatever he was brooding about To be honest, he'd been too lost in thought about the mission to think much about anything else.

They had not spoken as they stepped across the threshold, nor as they headed to their respective rooms. Dooku, again, hadn't really been concerned. Offhandedly, he had reached for their mental bond, but Qui-Gon had given him the psychic equivalent of a door slammed in his face. Rude, he thought, but after all, he was dealing with a teenager, no matter how abnormally self-composed the boy usually seemed.

He really wasn't properly worried until Qui-Gon left their quarters, a little under an hour ago. Dooku had heard the door close.

The Master swung his legs around the side of the sleepcouch and buried his head in his hands. It was a stupid thing to do, to go wandering around this palace at night, especially with unseen foes around. One could get lost, or fall into an uncomfortable situation, or...be attacked by a group of killer droids...

_I sound like a bloody parent._

He shook his head in disgust. If Qui-Gon wanted to go on foolish nighttime quests and get himself...well, get himself into trouble, it didn't concern him. It was well past midnight, he was officially off as Qui-Gon's supervisor. What he really ought to do was forget about his Padawan, get a good night's rest, and worry about all of this in the morning.

As if that would honestly ever happen.

Dooku got up and headed out the door.

Finding Qui-Gon wasn't especially difficult. The boy's presence in the force had always been distinctive, and Dooku could easily follow the lingering sense of him through the winding corridors of the palace. The hallways were illuminated with soft, golden light that crossed against silky shadows, and it wasn't entirely unpleasant to pace them at this late hour. It seemed as if Dooku had only walking for mere moments before he located Qui-Gon.

The room was wide and cavernous, with a large mural spanning the entire far wall. The picture was of an elaborate dragon creature, some figure of Trisstarian mythology tiled in full detailed color. The mural was illuminated with low spotlights, but otherwise the room was mostly darkened.

Mostly darkened, that was, with the exception of the soft green glow of a lightsaber.

Dooku moved into the shadowed doorway, masking his presence in the force so that he was nearly invisible. He'd always been good at subtlety, and he knew Qui-Gon's skill level; good, but not good enough to detect him if he were hiding.

In the middle of the gym, his apprentice slowly moved through a Kashi defensive lightsaber form. The boy's movements were solid, and purposeful; he seemed to be testing the form, using it cautiously. Then, abruptly, he twirled, and lashed out at the air in a flurry of chopping attacks. It was as if he were sparring a ghost.

Watching, Dooku knew this. He himself had done it before, even recently. The midnight, impromptu sparring session to force the mission, pain, frustration, girl, whatever it was out of his system in the purest way that he knew. He watched, transfixed, almost amused, as Qui-Gon followed the Kashi's deliberate points like a star chart. It wasn't a form he was especially good at, but in the low light, fueled by whatever was quietly smoldering in Qui-Gon, it was dance.

That was something about his Padawan. Against the block-chop Jedi of their day, Qui-Gon often reminded him that lightsaber sparring could still be...well..._pretty_.

Qui-Gon repeated the form, once more, faster. He was about half-way through when he suddenly stopped. The boy went very, very still, like a deer that had scented a predator. A quivering still, before full out flight. Dooku could see his silhouette quite clearly. He could hear him panting quietly.

And now he could feel Qui-Gon in the force, his awareness suddenly expanding like living mist, the boy's own distinct color glowing up bright with concentration. Amused, Dooku realized what he was doing. He could not see Dooku directly because of his masking, but he could feel that _someone_ was here, sneaking around. He was better than he had originally thought, Dooku admitted to himself. Oh well.

"Trying to work something out?" Dooku queried, stepping of the shadows with a small smile.

Qui-Gon flushed, and abruptly snapped off his saber. The green light died with a faint hiss, leaving them standing in relative darkness, except for the illuminated mural.

"Don't stop on my account. Stars know, I don't see you practicing defensive form enough." Dooku stopped walking, opening a palm to him in a gesture that echoed a force suggestion to relax.

Qui-Gon looked wary. "What are you doing here?"

"Mind your tone. I have as much right to wander this palace after dark as you do. Perhaps even more..." Dooku commented, pointedly. "...since I am your Master."

Qui-Gon looked at him. Dooku had absolutely no idea what his Padawan was thinking. Sometimes that was a little unsettling. "If you wish to punish me for being out, you are well within your rights to do so." Smoothly, without missing a beat, Qui-Gon knelt on the floor before Dooku. He lowered his eyes a little, and bowed his head in the traditional admonished Padawan pose.

He knew fully well that Dooku hated it when he did that.

The Master stared at his Padawan, kneeling ridiculously at his feet, for a long second. "Get off the bloody floor, Qui-Gon!" He snapped irksomely. "You look absurd!"

Obediently, Qui-Gon picked himself up, dusting lint off his pajama pants.

Dooku took a breath. Pulling rank on him was never as satisfying as it would be with someone else. Only Qui-Gon Jinn could make kneeling in submission seem like open rebellion. He narrowed his eyes, perturbed. "I'm not here to yell at you about being out of bed, _although_, you might have done me the courtesy of a note. I was simply..." Dooku faltered slightly here. He didn't know what he 'simply' had been doing wandering around the palace like a nervous mother fowl. "...you seemed upset. I wanted to check on you."

Qui-Gon looked mildly surprised. "That's kind of you."

Dooku waved a hand dismissively. "So." He took a step forward. "Do you want to talk about things?"

Qui-Gon shook his head stonily.

"Do you want help with that form?" Dooku tried again.

Again, Qui-Gon shook his head.

Dooku didn't break his stare. "Do you want me just to leave, then?"

Qui-Gon sighed, quite suddenly, and lowered his head. "No..." he whispered, more to his bare feet than to Dooku. "I don't really want that either." He glanced up. "I'm sorry."

Dooku settled lightly into a fighting stance. "Let's go over the Kashi form again. Your defense needs work, and going through forms alone is no substitute for actual combat with someone." He said it rather plainly, as if in conversation, but Qui-Gon would know it was a command.

He backed up a little ways from Dooku, placing his feet in classic defensive position and then reaching for his lightsaber. "As you wish."

Dooku waved him off. "Without sabers this time." He allowed a flicker of a smile to cross his face. "...I would truly hate to scorch my pajamas."

Qui-Gon nodded unsmilingly, clipping his saber back to his belt. "Of course."

"Begin then," Dooku inclined his head in a slight bow, and then force-pushed the boy sharply. Qui-Gon staggered. "So what's really the problem here?"

Qui-Gon slide his body back with the momentum of the push, regaining his footing. "I never get over it," he murmured, blocking Dooku's next punch and pushing it back at him. "the death. The shock of it. The way it feels in the force."

"Watch your footwork..." Dooku nodded for him to go on.

"And I know, as a Jedi, one has to face death all the time. But I'm not sure if I can do it. I don't know." His voice caught slightly. "I'm going to make a terrible Jedi Knight--"

"Don't be idiotic, you're going to be excellent." Dooku snapped abruptly, before Qui-Gon had even finished speaking. It wasn't a feel-good mantra, or a fatherly saying. Dooku believed it with passion. He believed it more than he had believed anything in his life. He knew from the start that Qui-Gon was going to be great. He was going to change the galaxy. He was sure.

But the boy across from him with the sad eyes shook his head, doubtful. "And, you know, I _liked_ Tomarius." He ducked his head to avoid a kick. "One moment he was there, talking to me, a life, and then he was gone. I didn't even get to know him, but the impression I got was positive. I thought he was kind. I only talked to him an hour before. I suppose he never counted on dying." He shook his head ruefully.

"Does anyone?" Dooku tried another series of whirling kicks on his apprentice. Qui-Gon managed to dodge them. "It is a part of life, Qui-Gon. He is one with the force now. Yes, it was a terrible thing that he had to die so suddenly. But what has happened has happened. You feeling bad about it will not change anything."

Qui-Gon sighed, and barely blocked a punch with his hand. "You're right."

"Always," Dooku nodded. He stopped fighting for a moment. "I think I see your problem. With your defense form, and with the problem of death. It's your compassion." He suddenly lashed out toward Qui-Gon's face. Qui-Gon flinched with surprise, but Dooku didn't hit him. He only nodded. "You never see it coming, do you?"

_Tbc…I'm not quite sure when the next update will be, sorry, kind of having a weird life right now. :(_


	5. As Human as Affection

**Author's note: No, I haven't forgotten about this fic. I never will. Because it's my little brain baby. So, this chapter is shorter, but I promise more soon. :) **

Dooku dressed quietly in the early morning light. He imagined, almost, that the sky look just a bit lighter, but upon opening the blinds he could see that the rain was still coming down as hard as ever. Of course. Tying his dark hair back, he moodily yanked the curtain back over the window with the force. He was growing terribly weary of looking at rain.

He swished into the common area, and found Qui-Gon, dangling upside down off the couch. Dooku stopped. He had to look again.

His Padawan was clad only in his sleep pants, and had loosely draped himself over the arm of the sofa so that his head and shoulders hung upside down. He had a jar of jam resting on his bare stomach, a bit of toast and a butter knife clutched loosely in his hands. Dooku watched, horrified, as Qui-Gon stuck the knife into the jam, spread it over a small portion of his toast, and then bit off the jelly. He chewed happily, and slapped more jam over the place he had bitten before. He took another bite.

Dooku felt himself starting to twitch. Qui-Gon was double-dipping to an extraordinary degree, contaminating the jam with his crumbs and germs, getting the couch sticky, and about to break his neck. He had managed to strike nearly all of Dooku's pet peeves in a single moment. The Master took a breath, preparing himself to pour out his wrath on the boy...

But then Qui-Gon suddenly seem to realize he was there, for he glanced up and smiled at him sheepishly. Dooku noticed for the first time a little mark on the boy's cheek where a splash of energy from one of last night's attack droid's bolts had caught him. There was just a small burn, a tiny, insignificant reminder of how closely fate brushed him. It could have so easily been his head. Involuntarily, Dooku shivered. Just a flinch away.

That would be it, wouldn't it? That would be the moment where it all whirled together, where the horrible irony of it all came crashing down on him, blowing him away into the abyss. To be honest, he cared for the boy, cared for him far too much. Qui-Gon was like his own child. He would be destroyed to lose him. After everything, all of Dooku's cold logic, planning, his control, at heart he had been felled by such a petty, human thing as affection. He realized that Qui-Gon was a very exploitable weakness.

Dooku blinked. He looked at the mark again. He had talked about death so confidently last night. Ironic. It had really been so close.

Qui-Gon shifted uncomfortably under the Master's stare. "Good morning, Master." He steadied the jar on his stomach.

Dooku returned to the moment with a slight jolt. He watched Qui-Gon regard him from the couch. "Qui-Gon...you're..." he swallowed. "you're completely contaminating the jam, you know."

"Oh." Qui-Gon studied the jar for a moment, then turned his eyes back to Dooku. "Am I?"

"Yes...you..." Dooku felt the resolution draining out of him as he walked over toward the other side of the couch. "...double-dipping, that's really...really quite disgusting, Qui-Gon, I wish you wouldn't..." His core of purpose completely evaporated as he sank into the seat next to Qui-Gon's legs. Let the boy have his germ-ridden jam and eat it upside down. In the cosmic force, it really didn't matter.

"Did you want some?" Qui-Gon asked quickly, straightening up. He held out the jar to Dooku. "It's...really good..."

"Ah..." Dooku eyed the sticky jar with a slightly inclined eyebrow. "...no, no, thank you."

Awkward silence.

"So..." Qui-Gon began conversationally, setting the sticky jar to the side with care. "what are we doing today?"

"Hm." Dooku watched him a moment, pondering, and then set off on another track entirely. "What do you want to do?"

"I...ah..." Dooku watched with vague amusement as the perfect padawan and the rowdy boy inside Qui-Gon collided into one another. "...I want to do whatever you want to do...Master." He finally nodded, deciding upon his proper answer.

Dooku laughed. "Of course you do." He supposed Qui-Gon had suspected what in the end was the truth: that both of them would end up doing whatever they felt like doing anyway. While Dooku didn't exactly consider himself a lenient Master, he had learned long ago that Qui-Gon worked much better steered from a distance than directly shoved in the desired direction. It was better to wind the boy up and let him spin his eccentric circles than order him around. His instincts were excellent.

But of course, when confronted directly, Qui-Gon always played up the moldable pupil part. Dooku knew it was only a facade, but appreciated it all the same. He did have his pride, even if he knew inside he could never completely control Qui-Gon.

That used to make him angry. Perhaps another reason for the Padawan's guise.

"So," Cutting through Dooku's reverie to the point, Qui-Gon swung his long legs around to a more proper sitting position for a nearly grown Jedi student. "what are we doing?"

Dooku inclined his head slightly. "We need to decide what course we're going to pursue with the murder investigation, if we've decided Tormarius was indeed murdered."

Qui-Gon's eyes flashed sharp blue. "You still think all that was a tech error? Five of them with the same fatal glitch?"

"No, but there are other possibilities. We shouldn't start suspecting palace officials until we're sure." Dooku laced his hands together and studied them. "Maybe a suicide? Tormarius' job was certainly taxing, to say the least-"

"No." Qui-Gon interrupted, shaking his head slightly. "Tormarius didn't kill himself."

Dooku narrowed his eyes in slight irritation. "You sound rather sure for someone who knew him all of thirty minutes. You know I trust your feelings about things, but this is a bit of a stretch, isn't it?" 

"He was a quiet man, wasn't he? He would kill himself discretely, more effectively."

"Perhaps he wanted to go out with a bit of flourish."

"But if he wanted people to notice it, he wouldn't have made it look like it might have been an accident, or murder." Qui-Gon chewed his lip. "I think someone set him up." He looked up at Dooku, who was watching him closely, silently. "I think he knew something, or at least suspected..." He trailed off. Dooku almost heard the mental click. "Wait, Master. Who placed the call for Jedi aide? It was Tormarius, wasn't it?" 

Dooku smiled vaguely, and got to his feet. "Perhaps there was something, or ah," he cleared his throat. "someone in the palace who concerned him."

"So much so that he requested Jedi aide. Ordered personal protection droids for the Monarch." 

Dooku strode to the side of the couch and placed his hands on Qui-Gon's shoulders genially. "So, then, my clever Padawan, who's the threat?"

Qui-Gon tilted his head back to give his Master an upside down look of grim uncertainty. "That's where my line of thought stops. But we weren't supposed to know about the droids, were we? They were a safeguard. So, it's got to be something he thought even we couldn't deal with." Qui-Gon sighed, his world-weary, worried soul overcoming the carefree boy as it always inevitably did. "Doesn't bode well."

"All that means is that Tormarius did underestimate us, as I had suspected. Simply in a different way."

But further dialogue was cut off by the echo of a doorchime.  
Kind of uneventful chappie, and possibly the world's lamest cliffhanger, but I do promise the next will be better. Thanks for reading!


	6. Cruelty and Play

**Authors Notations: **Haha, wow, it's been a while since I used the term 'notations.' Wheee. (memo: no more posting at 4am..) Anyway, thank you all for being so patient with this chapter. It was raining today, so I took advantage of the irony and finished this up. :corny smile: The next few parts should come faster, as my plot is starting to spin out a bit…

As always, Lucas owns. Feedback is so appreciated.

But further dialogue was cut off by the echo of a doorchime.

Qui-Gon looked up at Dooku.

Dooku looked down at Qui-Gon. "Is that..." 

"...for you?" Qui-Gon finished his Master sentence without thinking. Sometimes, when he and Dooku stayed around each other for too long, he took to finishing the older Jedi's thoughts. A side effect of his company that Qui-Gon often found slightly disturbing. Sometimes the strength of Dooku's influence worried him.

"I'm not expecting anyone." Dooku raised his eyebrows with a slight smile. Qui-Gon knew the look, the distinctively quirked, amused brow. Dooku often adopted it when he was finding his Padawan particularly amusing. "I dare say, it might be for you."

"Who would want to see me?" Qui-Gon frowned seriously.

"I've been pondering that exact question since you and that Tahl girl began courting years ago." Dooku snipped, sweeping off to get the door, while Qui-Gon took a moment to mull over his words in confusion. He heard the locks click, and the door swished open to reveal an impatient brown-haired girl standing in the threshold. "Ah...hello there."

"I am not seeing Tahl!" Qui-Gon yelled hotly from the sitting area. 

Dooku raised his eyebrows in a sort of what-can-you-do-with-him expression and nodded politely toward the girl. "May I help you with something?"

"I'm looking for Qui-Gon," she answered, peering passed Dooku and into the quarters curiously. Qui-Gon ducked.

Dooku smiled, with interest. "Ah. I see." He motioned for her to come in, and turned to address his Padawan. "A lady to see you, Qui-Gon."

Qui-Gon frowned from his position half-hiding near the sofa. The voice was so horribly familiar, along with the snatch of brown hair he had seen. He peered out, cautiously.

"Qui-Gon!" The girl bounced passed Dooku without second glance, hop-skipping up to the young Jedi and taking his hand excitedly. "Good morning!"

Qui-Gon blinked in horror, staring down at his captured hand Surely, no, this wasn't..."Princess Takatrina?"

"Tak, I told you, call me Tak!" She playfully punched him, and Qui-Gon winced. Oblivious, she grinned at him, tossing her long brown ponytail back as she rocked on her heels. "What are you doing today?"

Qui-Gon looked desperately to Dooku.. The Master lounged, making no move to help, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. It was obvious that he was immensely enjoying the scene. His mentor was very cruel sometimes, Qui-Gon thought bitterly. They hadn't decided what they were doing today, and he could tell Dooku plainly understood the conflict Qui-Gon faced. He didn't have an excuse.

"I...I don't know, Tak, I guess work on the investiga—"

"Wrong!" she chirped, wacking him again.

Qui-Gon rubbed his shoulder in confusion. "What?"

"Wrong! We're going to explore the palace together!"

"Oh," Qui-Gon replied, looking over her shoulder at Dooku, who, for someone generally stoic to the point of grim, seemed to be doing a very poor job of containing laughter. "I'll have to ask my Master..." he trailed off, his eyes pleading with Dooku for rescue. Surely, he wouldn't do this to him... Dooku would have his fun laughing at him, but rescue him in the end. Wouldn't he? With terror, Qui-Gon realized he didn't know. "We have a very, very...busy..."

Dooku answered his worries with a kindly smile.

Qui-Gon cursed to himself. 

"Padawan, I think I can quite handle the investigation by myself." Dooku looked predatory when he smiled, Qui-Gon thought. His tone had become uncharacteristically fond, dripping with irony. "You just run along with your little friend and have some...fun." To Qui-Gon's continuing shock and horror, Dooku reached over and mussed the boy's hair, smirking.

Tak cheered.

Qui-Gon glared.

"However, you're going to want to acquire a shirt, first." Dooku quipped, his dark eyes practically dancing with amusement at his Padawan's predicament. He half-turned to Tak, adopting a fatherly air. "He's so scatterbrained, sometimes." 

As Qui-Gon, shaking with indignation, stalked back toward his room, he could still hear Dooku and Tak chatting at each other. His Master, and his moods! Naturally, Dooku would be gregarious enough when it concerned ruining his Padawan's day. He was doing this on purpose. Qui-Gon swore he was going to get his Master back for this one, revenge ethics disregarded. He managed to find a shirt, pulled it on, and headed back toward the doorway, to where Dooku was in the middle of what sounded like a spirited narration of one of the more embarrassing points of Qui-Gon's Padawan career.

"—the creature actually swallowed him, it's merely lucky that I was there and—"

Qui-Gon caught the giggling Tak by the arm, nearly dragging her from the apartment. "Come on," He gave Dooku a little wave. "Thank you, Master."

Tak was still laughing helplessly as they walked down the hallway. "Dooku is so funny," she gasped, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes.

"Oh yes," Qui-Gon dead-panned. "Dooku's just about the most charming, hilarious Master in the entire Jedi Order. The Council can't get enough of him."

Tak clearly didn't catch the sarcasm. "You're so very lucky!"

Qui-Gon rolled his eyes, blowing out a sigh. He certainly hadn't planned on spending his day babysitting bored teenaged royals on Dooku's random whim. "Indeed. So where are we going?"

Tak grinned, giving him a little shrug. "I thought you'd like to see the palace. It can be a smidgen overwhelming at first, so many rooms and corridors! I imagine being in it for the first time, it would be easy to become quite lost..." She turned to give him a knowing look, her hazel-green eyes full of mischief. "if you and Dooku's late entrance at the party is anything to go by."

So their lateness had been noted. It seemed for all of the Triss' fun-loving and good nature, they were a shrewd bunch. Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow at her. "I appreciate it."

Off in the logical portions of his mind, he realized, dismally, that she had a point about the palace. A tour was probably a good idea. It would be helpful to know where everything was, especially since security had been compromised. Anyone who would be working against them would have the advantage of knowing the buildings layout, and they would need to be able to counter. He was beginning to suspect that Dooku had realized this at some point, and subsequently thrown him to Tak for the day, although he was still angry. The ends certainly didn't justify the means, in this case. 

She had set a quick pace for them, talking animatedly with her hands as she went. What she was saying drifted in and out, as he glanced around at the palace. "The gardens are really the best part, Trisstar is known for its lovely weather, or, usually it is," she frowned. "but we have fruit trees, and flowers, and bird cages with roses and everything, it's usually so pretty. The river is diverted to run through it, all the fountains are off of it." 

Qui-Gon nodded distractedly. His input didn't seem very crucial to her.

"The ball rooms are mostly like you saw, all made of glass. We also have a very lovely library, I don't suppose I could ever read all of the books, though Father say's I'm getting there. The historians work there." She seemed to be rambling now.

By now they had turned into a small courtyard, whose sole existence seemed to be to house a stone bench, a fountain, and a tiled wall design. Tak walked purposefully over to it, studying the sculpted rose motif. "Ah, but this is the best part." She paused, her eyes glittering with excitement. Qui-Gon wondered dismally if he were about to get a lecture in Trisstar art. "Look." 

Instead, she pressed the center of the rose, and a small doorway creaked open. Qui-Gon tilted his head in confusion, as she twittered excitedly. "These tunnels go all over the palace," she ducked into the darkness. "Come on!"

Qui-Gon blinked at her. Dooku had always advised him against going into dark, disreputable-looking holes with seedy types. He wasn't sure Tak classified as seedy, but he still wasn't really excited to be following her into a narrow tunnel.

He must have hesitated longer than he realized, because an instant later she had popped back into view, frowning. "You coming?"

This could lead to a better understanding of the mission. Of course, it could also lead to death by suffocation in a random, dark hole.

"You aren't afraid of small spaces, are you?"

He sighed, and followed her into the dark.

"I've got a glowrod somewhere here..." He heard her fumbling. "Hold on, Qui...hey, may I call you Qui? Or maybe Quigs?"

Qui-Gon found his own mini glowrod from his belt and snapped it on. The bright white beam illuminated the girl's smiling face. He grimaced back. "Call me whatever you like." 

"Thanks." she managed to finally find her light, illuminating the small passage they were now crouched in. The walls around them matched the marble stone of the rest of the palace, and the path looked much as if it had been built at the first construction of the palace. The space was only high enough for them to crouch, but it stretched on immeasurably, out into yawning darkness. From the direction, it seemed the little path ran parallel to the main palace hallway.

Qui-Gon flashed his glowrod down into the stretching black. The tunnel seemed to stretch on forever. This was certainly a development. "Interesting. I'm impressed." 

"You haven't seen nothing yet, Jedi boy." Tak nodded for him to follow her, and set off down the tunnel.

"So are you the only one who knows about these?" Qui-Gon asked, attempting to keep up with the smaller girl's agile crawl. Seeing this network of tunnels, he couldn't help but think of the shadow following him and Dooku the previous day, and how it had seemed to disappear into nothing...

Tak's voice came back, sounding rather pleased with herself. "As far as I know. They follow into most of the rooms in the palace. The building is so old, whatever paranoid Monarch built them is surely long dead. I found them when I was very young: six or seven." She paused, somewhat melodramatically. "It was after...after my mother died. I used to hide here, when I needed time to myself, you know...for.. for my own thoughts."

Qui-Gon wasn't sure if she was expecting a reply, and he hadn't quite developed Dooku's skill at making Jedi Masterly listening noises, so he said nothing. Honestly, he couldn't quite grasp what deep thoughts Tak's six year old self might be having that required this much isolation, but he empathized all the same.

"Is your mother dead?" Tak asked casually, in her random manner.

The question took Qui-Gon by surprise. It wasn't really something he had ever considered. He hedged, frowning. "Why do you ask?" 

Tak's voice held a bit of a shrug. "You seem like the sort whose mother is dead."

"I don't know," Qui-Gon answered, honestly. As far as Yoda had told him of the matter, his entrance to the Jedi Temple had been rather ordinary. He had left it at that. Some Jedi made a show of looking of their families, what kind of life they would have had if they had never joined the Order, but he never much bothered. There were a lot of things in the galaxy that Qui-Gon felt uncertain about, but his dedication to the Jedi Order had never been one of them.

"You don't know?" She persisted, pausing, and half-turning to spotlight him with her glowrod. What he could see of her expression was bewildered. "How can you not know if your own mother is dead or not?"

"It never much mattered. I came to the Temple as a baby," he shrugged. "The Jedi have always been my family."

Tak looked less convinced. "Strange," she shrugged, turning back and starting down the tunnel again. "I suppose you do have your Master, he must be quite like a father."

"No," Qui-Gon replied, feeling slightly irritated at the girl for trying to make him rationalize his life. He wasn't sure why this conversation was trying his patience so much; maybe because he was more eager to work on the investigation than spend his day exploring tunnels with a overly nosey princess. He felt an abrupt stab of anger at Dooku. "he isn't, really." 

"No?"

"No."

Of course, she wouldn't leave it at that. "What is he, then?"

Qui-Gon took a breath. Explaining his relationship with Dooku to this girl would take more patience and time than he had, if he could even manage to put it to words. How could he express it? Dooku was a friend, a companion, a confidant, a teacher, someone he trusted and relied upon completely, but at the same time, whose motivations he would never truly understand. Not that this was a bad thing. Honestly, he might even say that, at times, he loved Dooku, although he supposed it was mostly unreturned. He didn't think the Master ever truly loved anyone, even himself. So, Qui-Gon answered, rather simply, understated, "complex."

"My father isn't much like a father either." Tak replied, and Qui-Gon wasn't sure if she was sympathizing, or just saying. He didn't respond.

They continued on in silence for a good while, and after a bit, Qui-Gon found that he was actually starting to enjoy himself. Every now and then they would drop down from the vents into a special room or a corridor, amusing themselves with the various items they found. They spent a good deal of time in the library map room, Qui-Gon pointing out the places he'd been, Tak listening to his stories. They wrecked havoc in the kitchens, playing with the various fruits, and spent a long time running around the throne rooms. Qui-Gon found a nest of tiny veer mice in a dusty study, and actually managed to coax the mother away so they could examine her squeaking, naked brood. 

Finally, hours after they had started out, Tak and Qui-Gon were back up in the tunnels, and Tak was snaking a finger through the last vent. "I saved this for last, because it's definitely the most entertaining."

Entertaining. Qui-Gon sat back on his heels and waited for her to unhook the vent, feeling mildly worried at her phrasing. Only mildly, however; he was in a far better mood now, though, and was less inclined to worry about where she was taking them. And last meant he could go back soon.

And eat something.

She dropped through the now open vent, and he followed her, enjoying the quick thrill of the drop. He didn't mind leaping off things much. It reminded him some of his lightsaber form, and he always took time to savor the little dropping feeling When he landed, they were in a lush bedroom suite, painted with swirling, elaborate color patterns, and absolutely covered in silk.

"Here we are," Tak breathed, grinning at him.

He stared around. Heavy, ornate furniture stood in ever corner, cluttered with glittering ornaments and trinkets. Golden orbs of light hung here and there, strung across huge, colorful tapestries of woven scenery. On one wall, several old archaic metal sabers hung, polished to a cold glow. The entire room reminded Qui-Gon of a sort of old-fashioned jewel box, decorated with bits and pieces of affluence, as cluttered with this and that as the veer nest. On the far end of the room, like a oversized throne, stood a huge, silk-swathed bed, complete with canopy and everything. He stared around for a moment, taking it all in.

And then went to take a closer look at the swords.

Tak was giggling, plucking an ornamental feather out of a display and toying with it. "I knew you would like those. Lasteera collects them. She has a whole gallery."

"Lasteera?" Qui-Gon froze

Tak slashed the feather at him. "Des Lasteera." She grinned, with the air of someone revealing a delightful surprise. "This is her bedroom."

Qui-Gon whirled. "What?"

Tak started to laugh. "It isn't a problem, she's never in here." 

Qui-Gon thought this still sounded like a problem. All he needed was this woman accused of wanting to kill them to find him snooping in her bedroom. It was a recipe for disaster if he ever saw one. He headed over toward the vent. "Tak, let's leave."

Tak was still flicking around that ridiculous feather. "Don't be such a worrier, Quiggy."

He was really starting to have a bad feeling about all this. "I'm serious. Isn't Lasteera that woman who hates Jedi?"

Tak laughed. "Stars and planets, you..." 

But her comment was interrupted by footsteps coming from outside the room, and a horribly familiar voice.

Qui-Gon froze. Tak went pale.

"Under the bed!"

…like, **tbc:D**


	7. Intrigue

**Author's Note: **Always so late with this fic, I'm sorry! Still keeping on!

Dust did not suit Qui-Gon in the least.

As he crawled under the high bed, he buried his face in his sleeve, pinching his nose through the fabric to keep back sneezes. This looked bad. There was clumps of it everywhere; obviously the cleaning droids had neglected this area of the room very seriously. The boy closed his eyes against the sensation that the backs of his eyeballs were being tickled.

He usually mastered keeping quiet very well; training with Dooku had taken care of that. He recalled once when the Master had spent an entire day sitting directly across from him, intently poking at him with a feather to work on his reactions. He had done well, once he got over the original nervous giggling...but dust, oh, dust was another story.

Dust and Qui-Gon were old foes.

The footsteps grew closer, and with them, the off hum of human voice. He could feel the nervous energy coming in waves off Tak, smell the heady, toxic perfume of one Des Lasteera, and...

There was someone with her.

That _voice._

"So, ah, what do I need to see?"

Qui-Gon strained, sneezing worries abandoned, to listen.

"Of course, of course. One moment, let me get..." Lasteera sounded vaguely flustered.

There came an eloquent sigh over her talking. A sigh about attempted patience, and patronizing. World-weary. Expressive. It was the sigh that gave it all away.

"Wait..." Qui-Gon froze, half-way out from under the bed already. "Tak...that's..." There was no denying it. The voice was unmistakably Dooku's.

"I'll just fetch us some wine...I don't know where my service droids are!" Lasteera's sharp-heeled boots clacked off, and Qui-Gon chanced a peek over the bed. Sure enough, Dooku was standing just inside the room, looking as he always did: like he thoroughly belonged there.

"Master?!" Qui-Gon gasped, incredulously. He saw Dooku half-turn, a startled, almost panicked expression breaking through his usual look of calm confidence. Qui-Gon ducked low, carefully slinking over toward his Master. "What are you–_mmf!" _

Dooku collided with him halfway, clapping a hand firmly over his mouth. "Shh! Keep quiet! Stars, I thought I sensed _you!" _He glared at his effectively silenced apprentice. "What are you doing here?"

Qui-Gon tried to answer, but through Dooku's palm, the words came out only as a muffled array of noise.

"What?" Dooku snapped, without moving his hand.

Qui-Gon frowned at his Master, and with a pulse of irrationality, gave the palm closed over his mouth a good lick.

"Ugh!" Dooku recoiled in horror, jerking his hand away and shaking it wildly, as if the motion could somehow dislodge the germs. "Qui-Gon Jinn!" He hissed in an enraged whisper, spitting the words out like a hasty string of curses. "That was the most disgusting, childish, repulsive, _vile_ thing you have done in the history of my knowing you and that _is_ saying something!"

"What are you doing in Des Lasteera's bedroom?!" Qui-Gon squeaked, jumping out of his Master's reach. 

Dooku glared venomously at him. "Disgusting—what do you think I'm doing here?!" He paused, smearing his palm against his tunic as if to wipe away any invisible traces of his Padawan's tongue. "Really, Qui-Gon." He lowered his voice another notch, quite suddenly. "I've worked my way here for elaborate purposes of espionage, the likes of which you probably would not understand, so please, remove your foul self from the room as quickly as possible and make your best attempt to not foil my efforts any more than you already–"

"Master Jedi, would you like red wine, white wine, or blue wine?" Lasteera's high, girlish voice called from the next room.

"Ah, red will be quite suitable, thank you." Dooku answered back, his tone forced pleasant, his face contorted with irritation. "—than you already have, is that clear, Learner?"

_Learner. _Dooku was really bothered at him. It was, really, in his best interests to flee. Qui-Gon nodded quickly, intending to do just that, at the same time that Tak popped her head up from beside the bed. "Quigs, are we going?"

"Oh, by the stars. By the bloody, brilliant stars. Qui-Gon, you bought the princess?"

"She brought_ me!_" Qui-Gon corrected, motioning at her, thinking perhaps he ought to make that point, since a thin vein under Dooku's eye was twitching with a spastic quality that was rather alarming. "She..." He trailed off, pointing, dithering. Tak had bounded up beside him, looking entertained and curious.

The sharp, clacking sound of heels was returning. Dooku gave a desperate look backwards, and then flung open a side-closet. "Inside!"

Qui-Gon hesitated. "What..." 

Dooku seized him abruptly, and physically shoved him into the doorway. "Now!"

Tak squeaked, chased after him, and Dooku crashed the door closed. Darkness swallowed up Qui-Gon's vision, and he found himself suddenly in another tiny space, crammed up against some perfume-smelling garments.

Fuzzily, from the room, not a moment later, came Lasteera's voice. "Was that a door slam I heard, Master Dooku?"

"Ah...yes." Dooku sounded flustered, and Qui-Gon found dark satisfaction in that. "I thought perhaps I heard some sort of...horrible...rodent..."

Horrible rodent, indeed! Qui-Gon snorted into a dress, and immediately regretted it. The thing smelled foul. He could feel Tak somewhere near to him, wiggling around in the clothing. He didn't know what the girl was doing, but opted to listen at the door to Dooku and Lasteera's conversation instead of finding out.

"There aren't any rodents in here, Master Dooku." A throaty little laugh. "These are my private quarters, after all."

Dooku sounded glum. "Oh. So, again, what is it that you needed to show me here?"

"I merely wanted to show you my collection of crystal and metal swords and weaponry..." Lasteera was simpering. "I have quite the collection. You are a fencer, are you not?" 

"I thought you had something important to tell me about the incident with Tormarius..."

"Is everything with you about missions and facts?!" She interrupted him with a sudden torrent of passion.

This was like watching some sort of terrible speeder accident, Qui-Gon thought. He didn't want to stare, but he couldn't tear his stricken eyes away. Metaphorically, of course, he thought, regarding the darkness sourly. Anyway, he supposed he couldn't very much close his ears.

"...Yes?" Dooku's tone had reached outright bewildered.

Tak was tugging on him. Well, it was either Tak, or Dooku's lie about rodents had come to ironic fruition. "Quigs..."

Lasteera had started to rant, her voice wavering dangerously. "Dooku, I'm a planetary ruler, you're a Jedi Master...tell me you don't see what I see!"

"Planetary ruler?!" A little scoff, and Qui-Gon thought Dooku was going to get himself killed. "I thought you were a concubine, or a priestess, or whatever madness..."

"Qui-Gon!" He jolted out of listening, pulling his arm back from Tak. "I've found a way out of this wretched place...come on, already!"

Qui-Gon couldn't say he wasn't a little disappointed to miss this. Although it was unclear whether Lasteera was offering Dooku a romantic proposition, or trying to solicit him for some scheme, but all around, the boy found it to be remarkably amusing. And he hadn't the faintest idea how Dooku was going to escape from the situation, but he supposed getting out of this closet was a better option than watching it play out. And Dooku could take care of himself. He squirmed over toward Tak, where true to Trisstar form, she had found another little door. They crawled inside.

It was...dark. The tunnel was heavy with the sort of thick blackness of a place that had never seen light. Qui-Gon could hear the voices of his Master and Lasteera fading away as they moved, although judging by the fact that they could still hear them, the exchange seemed to have turned into a yelling match. He was glad to be away from it.

Tak didn't seem to know this tunnel so well, though, judging by the fact that the girl kept banging her head into the walls. More concerning yet was the fact that while the other tunnel had been a gradual slope, this one inclined distinctly downward, so that by the time they tumbled out into a low-lit cavern, they were more falling than crawling.

Upon impact with the stone floor, Qui-Gon had ripped a sizable hole in the knee of his pants, and was in the process of nursing the resulting wound, when Tak gasped. He glanced up, and then blinked. "What is this place?"

All around them, hung on stone walls were shelves of dusty books and containers. Brightly colored bottles lined the spaces, filling up the room with mosaic shards of reflected light. There was a bubbling, whistling machine in one corner, and a few pots of various clear liquid bubbling on a burner. An ancient-looking dresser full of drawers stood against one wall. The overall effect was a mysterious, rather disreputable-looking underground lab.

Tak was twirling, taking the entire room in with one sweeping gesture. "So this is where Des Lasteera works her 'sorcery!'"

Qui-Gon limped over to a table, where a sort of hybrid between a spellbook and an initiate chemistry text lay open. "Come again?"

"Well," Tak rolled her eyes. "I'd always known she was an old fraud, this merely proves it. She's always rambling about all of her cosmic powers...but it's all smoke and mirror work, isn't it?" She gestured around, with a twitter of nervous laughter. "Silly." 

Curious, Qui-Gon leaned to open some drawers, peering through an assortment of glittering amulets and herbs. "I don't know, this looks like quite a collection. My Master would probably like to see it...he studies this sort of thing." He picked up a token, half-wanting to slip it in his pocket to show Dooku later. 

"Crackpot spells and madness?" Tak asked, turning on him. "Why would a Jedi Master waste his time? I mean, when you two can do...can do _the real _thing..." She clasped her hands together, her eyes suddenly shining.

Ah, another happy reminder of why Qui-Gon didn't want to be trapped unground with this girl. She was mad. He started glancing around, in search of an exit. "It isn't really like that, you know. It isn't as if being a Jedi is just sitting around the Temple and doing magic tricks for each other."

"Why not?" Tak sounded downright disappointed.

Qui-Gon wondered briefly at her idea of the Jedi Order: a fanciful place where force users sat around performing impressive bits of sorcery, while Master Dooku scampered about stealing the hearts of all the lady Jedi with his hilarious jokes. Qui-Gon shuddered, and shrugged. "Because. Now, please help me find a way out."

"You know, I don't think you've done any force tricks for me, not once since we've been here." 

"Mm." Qui-Gon ignored her, cocking his head toward the far wall. He could sense something beyond it. Something alive. 

"I haven't even seen your lightsaber. Father wouldn't even let me watch you and your Master fight those droids..." 

Yes, there was something looming. It was a strange feeling, a trickle of something, a stirring, trembling consequence. He took a step backward, involuntary. "Tak."

"I don't see why not! And he knows that I love Jedi lore! That was part of the reason he agreed with Tormarius, when he wanted to bring in Jedi aide..."

"Tak, there's something here." 

"What do you mean there's..."

He took another step backward, pulling her with him. It was something, just a little something, but it was enough. They had to leave. "I can sense...something." He took a breath, glancing around. "We should go now."

"Oh, brilliant, Master Quiggo, and has the force revealed to you how exactly we'll get out?" Tak laughed, ducking out of his grip.

"Back up the way we came?" The boy ignored her, watching the side wall now, where it looked like a slab of stone was wiggling. That was never a good sign. 

"...back to the closet?"

He abruptly jerked, pushing her down behind the huge dresser of drawers, as the slab moved again, and gave way, to admit a burly man. Qui-Gon crouched against the girl and the wall, watching intently.

The man seemed out of place in the room, and he glanced around edgily, as if looking for something. He was dressed in the Monarch's colors, with some kind of elaborate insignia on his chest, but otherwise Qui-Gon didn't recognize him. He didn't look like one of the party guests from the previous evening. And he hadn't seen him in their earlier explorations.

However, Tak did seem to find something familiar, or at least amusing about him, because she was smiling like her birthday had come early. Despite his best efforts to keep her quiet, she whispered, "Zernith!" as if were a word of great important.

The man whirled at the soft echo of her voice, drawing his blaster. "Who's there?!"

Qui-Gon shoved her deeper into the crevice between the wall and the dresser. Tak squeaked a little, and pulled his Padawan braid. Clearly the idea of them being in mortal danger did nothing for her.

The intruder (or were they the intruders?) backed up slowly, still casting around, his blaster pointing. He edged around, glancing into the bubbling pots of potion brewing on the stovetops.

Qui-Gon tried to make himself very small in the force, the way Dooku had taught him, smoothing away his presence, or any disturbance they made. But even if the man couldn't see them, exactly, he had clearly heard Tak's voice, and whatever his purpose down here had been, it was now thwarted.

He made it to the little door he had entered in, and ducked out. Qui-Gon could hear the sound of his boots drumming the floor stones as he ran for it.

And then the cavern was silent.

"Well, that was entertaining," Tak exclaimed, shoving him off of her and getting up. She wiped off her hands on a bit of hanging curtain, leaving smears of dust across the fabric. "I suppose Zernith and Lasteera are involved, then." 

"Zernith?" Qui-Gon asked, desperately trying to shake her hand prints off the curtain and find the relevance of this tidbit. "What?"

"Like romantically, I know! It is a shock, indeed. But, honestly, what other purpose would he have snooping around in her private lab?"

Qui-Gon could think of a whole host of reasons better than romance, but that was the least of his confusion. "No…I mean…who was that? And why does it, erm, matter?"

She had wandered back to the main part of the lab, and was picking up artifacts, and inspecting them, as if for clues. "Our new Captain of the Guard." Her tone was playing casual. "You know, recent replacement after the old one died." She half-turned, her eyes bugging out with excitement. "..._mysteriously."_

Qui-Gon felt vaguely like slapping a hand to his forehead, even as he headed for the exit this guard man had found for them. The sick, squirming feeling of something being wrong didn't leave, even as they headed out of the room. He was getting so sick of secret passages, mysterious deaths, and Trisstar as a whole. This mission was fast spiraling out of control.

He needed to talk to Dooku.

"Master?" Qui-Gon inquired of their vast quarters, glancing around as he stepped through the door.

He could sense Dooku nearby---maybe. Sometimes his Master would disappear into the force for no readily apparent reason, overtaken by one mood or another. Qui-Gon couldn't tell if this was one of those times, or if Dooku was upset about something, and shielding, but not exactly knowing where his Master was coming from was nothing new in their relationship. The Master's robe was puddled on the counter; at least he knew he had gotten back from Lasteera's. Qui-Gon checked each of the rooms, dutifully, before establishing that Dooku must not be in the apartment, and moving on. If he was off sulking somewhere, he would appear out of the woodwork when he was ready.

In the meantime, Qui-Gon was starving. It had been hours since his jam snack, and his stomach was painfully reminding him of the proximity of dinnertime. He supposed if he went down to the dining hall Tak had shown him earlier, he might be able to procure something edible and the idea cheered him. He started back toward the door before the idea struck him that it might be polite, a peace offering, of sorts, to leave Dooku a little note detailing where he had gone, should his Master come around and wish to join him.

The boy turned, spying a book of datasheets on the counter next to the complimentary fruit basket. Staying in Fortin's palace was a lot like rooming at an insanely self-promotional hotel; every available tabletop was covered in monogrammed napkins, logo-bearing candies, or gold-letter notepads bearing the Household mark.

He selected a writing utensil, and pulled the sheet over, only to realize it had already been written on. A simple note etched in swirly, elaborate script, addressed presumably to him.

_Begin._

And it was in Dooku's handwriting.

"Begin?" Qui-Gon mumbled the word to himself, glancing around the room again, as if the walls would offer him meaning. He didn't have the slightest idea what he was supposed to take from that, but he knew Dooku wouldn't have written it down without some sort of reason, even if it was a bizarre, Dooku-like reason. He turned the word over in his mind, read it twice backward, and tried to form another word out of the letters, but nothing came. He reached out for Dooku in the force again, utterly baffled.

And froze.

It suddenly occurred to him that Dooku was not _sulking _in the force.

He was _sneaking_.

"Oh," Qui-Gon winced, backing away from the note slowly. "...Master?" He called out to the empty room. "I don't want to play right now, Master!" For all the good the sentiment would do him. Dooku was already hunting him. If he was going to eat anything before the inevitable spar went down, it would have to be fast.

Qui-Gon threw himself out the door at a dead run.

Exercises were nice. They were very nice. Some of his best memories of Temple life were the various games he had played with Tahl, Clee and the others, blindfolded sparring, the rock-climbing challenge, the various Coruscant tag-games. But Dooku took things to a whole new level. With Dooku, there were two rules. Rule one, everything was a fantastic game. And two, all fantastic games were deadly serious.

Qui-Gon glanced behind him, and spurred himself to greater speeds, dashing around the corner, and cutting into the gardens.

He could very clearly remember the first time Dooku had ambushed him. He had been all of twelve, and reading in the gardens. It had been a shock, to say the least, his Master pouncing down on him from a tree, like an over-exuberant jungle cat. Since then, Qui-Gon had learned to watch for Dooku's sneak attacks. He supposed they were good training, one never knew when an enemy might appear.

All the same, he was sure every time he woke up to Dooku standing over him with a lightsaber, it took a few years off of his life.

Master Dooku, for his part, loved it. Qui-Gon was sure that he had taken a Padawan mostly for the fact that it meant he could have a full-time sparring partner.

He just hoped he had thought to turn the power down on his saber, this time.

-tbc…-


	8. Peeps

**Author's Note:** Another chapter for you, lovelies! Think of this chapter as the calm before the storm. And, you know, any feedback you feel like leaving…perfectly fine with me: )

The gardens were a slick, cool grey in the evening rain. 

Dooku tipped his head back, letting the rain slip down over his face, trickling off his cheeks like ice water tears. The freshness felt good after his miserable interview with Lasteera. He had acquired at least some information about the unlikely advisor, and Qui-Gon had managed to not get them both killed with his stunts, but it was hard to feel as if he hadn't wasted his time. He stared up into the sky and tried to relax. Sometimes, if he could admit it to himself, Dooku felt as if stress was eating him alive. He could fake calm very well, and he knew that Qui-Gon never suspected, but sometimes he rather felt that he couldn't work these situations out at all, like he would have to sulk back to the Temple and report that he simply couldn't break the case.

Especially on this silly planet, where the native language seemed to be riddles and indistinct bad feelings.

When he felt this way, he often went for long walks to collect himself. Long walks, or short lightsaber duels, whichever opportunity first presented itself.

Currently, Dooku stretched along the thick branch of an orchard tree. It wasn't the most pleasant place to be in a rainstorm, but he was fairly sure his predatory patience would pay off soon enough. Qui-Gon was so absurdly easy to read when he was panicking, and the little note he'd left back in the quarters had probably done the trick.

Dooku yawned, glancing casually down to the garden path below. He could sense Qui-Gon's approach just as clearly as he could feel the boy's crazy hope that he wouldn't be outside on account of the rain. Dooku shook his head. His Padawan ought not to be reasoning about where the ambush would come from, but following the Force.

Below him, Qui-Gon had stopped, clearly beginning to realize he'd come the wrong way. Dooku smiled against the tree as he watched the boy glance wildly around. Qui-Gon was remarkably entertaining to watch when he was about to be leveled. He saw him take a step backward, obviously weighing his chances at running for it. He was certain that the Padawan could sense his presence, but Dooku didn't move until he could see the particular blue of Qui-Gon's eyes looking up into the tree, wide with surprise. Then Dooku dropped.

A green blade twirled upwards to meet his gold one with a crash of static. "Master!"

"Good afternoon," he answered with a wry smile, landing lightly beside Qui-Gon on the pathway. The lightsabers screeched together as Dooku's slid away to tie an elaborate salute in the gray air. "First mark to any lethal zone wins, I should think."

Never one for excessive flourish, Qui-Gon spun off to the side, trying to throw space between himself and Dooku's singing blade. The Master let him twirl. He would take all of the space Qui-Gon wanted to give him. The Makashi Form thrived on air. 

"Do you mind if we do this later?" Qui-Gon gritted his teeth, sliding over the cobblestones.

"Why?" Dooku smoothly followed Qui-Gon's motion, as if he were only a reflection in some slick mirror.

"Because--" A backward flip. Dooku blinked and slashed at it.

"–we–" Qui-Gon leapt high to avoid the swing intended to cut out his legs. "–need–" He punctuated with another leap. "-to–" Dooku had driven him back as far as he could go, and Qui-Gon was forced to block across his chest. "–talk!" Their blades met in a cross, green on gold. 

"So talk, child!" Dooku grinned disarmingly over the misty, sputtering light.

"Des Lasteera has a secret lab in her closet!" Qui-Gon's voice rose over the angry buzz of their locked sabers. "And Tak and I saw the new Head of the Guard, Zernith, snooping around in there–" The boy paused, pushing helplessly against the crossed blades. "–Master, it's very hard to give a follow-up report when you're trying to behead me..." 

"I'm listening," Dooku assured him, lowering his blade fractionally.

"–well, Tak says it's because he and Lasteera are in love, but I think that maybe he's the one who organized Tormarius and the former Head Guard's murders, and perhaps now he has his sights set on Lasteera. Especially if he seems to be paying extra attention to her, it could mean that she's the next target. This Zernith man could be the assassin we're looking for!"

"An interesting theory, to be sure." Dooku murmured neutrally, breaking the cross and swiping at Qui-Gon's head again.

"You think I'm wrong?" Qui-Gon ducked, somewhat breathlessly now, his braid flying around his head. His chest moved with each ragged inhale, and his eyes were sharp. Dooku could clearly see the vague annoyance forming in his Padawan's features, although his expression still seemed calm.

"I didn't say that."

"But I'm not right?"

"I don't know, Qui-Gon!" Stars, the child was so sensitive sometimes! Never mind the fact that his little story was based entirely on hearsay and circumstance; there was not much they could really do about it until this Zernith man made another move. And people were telling Qui-Gon silly stories all the time. Gossip was hardly a startling development. "It's simply a theory. An interesting one, as I said. Now tighten up, you're embarrassingly sloppy today!"

"It's because I'm trying to have a conversation with you!" Qui-Gon panted, springing away from the rosebush he had backed into.

"You need to learn to better multitask!" Dooku grimaced at the thorny crunch.

"What should we do, then?"

"More drills!"

"About the mission!"

"Listen. Wait. See. Trust ourselves, and the Force." Dooku saw Qui-Gon's sigh written over his young features, and it made him smile, in spite of himself. "--what we always do, Learner."

There was a pause, where the only conversation was the kissing song of their lightsabers: a spattering argument high on the blades and a clatter-retort of boots on slick stones. The pair crossed the gardens, moving between the raindrops, back and forth.

"You're slipping," Dooku commented conversationally as Qui-Gon ducked to avoid losing his head. The beam of golden light barely missed the boy, and he stumbled backward into a puddle with a splash.

It had become rather starkly apparent that Qui-Gon was losing by now. That in itself wasn't terribly unusual, he often lost; Dooku was one of the best swordsmen in the Temple. But usually he didn't lose so quickly. He was out of practice. Dooku grimaced. Qui-Gon's style had always been far more random and unreliable than the Master would have preferred, but at least he tended to trust his companionable Living Force well enough. He seldom worried about defensive strategy in his sparring; taking a battle moment by moment. He let Dooku plot and whirl around him, and then when he wasn't expecting it, lashed out, trying to catch him by surprise. The technique worked well enough for Qui-Gon in Temple tournaments. Only Dooku was seldom surprised, and his ruthless play could drag out long beyond the point where Qui-Gon's spastic energy gave out.

"You're lucky this is only practice. It would be only too easy for me to strike you down right here." Dooku's dancing blade pushed Qui-Gon further backwards. As his apprentice gave up more ground, he moved in for the kill. He had chosen this spot specifically, as it would more benefit his form than Qui-Gon's. Qui-Gon needed leverage to get his foolish leaps and flips going, and a predominately flat garden kept him grounded.

"Your skills have degenerated since we last fought." Dooku nudged Qui-Gon back with a precise jab as the boy bounced all too close to his comfort zone of space. Dooku liked a little verbal sparring to go with his strikes and thrusts. Plus, it always threw Qui-Gon off.

Qui-Gon's face tightened and his next strike went wildly off to the side. The boy was starting to tire, and he knew it. His weakening attack was not enough to counter Dooku's precise dissection.

"Perhaps I ought to take off your feet," Dooku swiped at Qui-Gon's knees with his blade, and the boy was forced to leap backwards to avoid a burn. Footwork!—always a tricky point with a teenaged boy! "You don't seem to be needing them much in your sparring…"

Qui-Gon let his flip carry him over a clutch of rose bushes and onto the next path. The plant barrier gave him a few seconds to catch his breath and regain his fighting composure. But the next moment, Dooku had made the jump too, landing beside his apprentice. Qui-Gon whirled. 

"You're letting me get to you, child." Dooku grinned offhandedly, pausing. He could almost see the holes opening up in Qui-Gon's defenses; deliberate punctures marked by his comments. It was disconcertingly easy for Dooku to follow the fault lines in his apprentice to a crack. His expression grew more serious. "Clear your mind!"

The Padawan did not reply, but his strained expression lighted fractionally. He took a breath and somersaulted over Dooku's head.

Dooku laughed as he whirled to face him. "Your acrobatics won't save you," but when he struck again, Qui-Gon had already moved. Now he would try to take this fight into the air, and in doing so, force Dooku out of his element. The boy bounded onto the narrow ledge of an ornamental fountain, his eyes flashing and bright with challenge.

Dooku bowed, grinned, and followed. He landed neatly on the ledge, one arm stretched for balance, his lightsaber held loosely at his side. "Now what?" 

He saw momentary blankness in the Padawan's eyes, and attacked. His lightsaber was a golden blur, looping the chaos of defeat around the wobbling apprentice. This had been a poor match from the beginning, and it would be better to end it and start again. It was time to land a killing blow.

Qui-Gon slipped a little on the ledge, and Dooku felt a thrust of exhilaration, even before his blade swung down to deliver a fatal neck-touch. But when he struck, Qui-Gon wasn't there.

There was a splash, and a hot neon flash of Force-warning before Dooku realized Qui-Gon had slipped down into the fountain itself, and was grabbing a hold on his leg. He could feel the tightness of the boy's grip, along with the resolute sense from him that was not quite over yet. And then Qui-Gon yanked. Hard.

Dooku had a split-second to deactivate his saber, and contemplate with mingled horror and admiration the sheer audacity of the move before he toppled straight into the fountain.

He hadn't hit the water before he was groping for his Padawan's throat. Dooku hadn't wanted it to come down to unarmed combat, but Qui-Gon had chosen the route. A few seconds of struggle gave way when the boy slipped free, slick and squirming as a salamander. He kicked off from Dooku, and went for his own lightsaber. To his misfortune, however, the activator gave one dismal, mechanical whimper, and promptly shorted out from its earlier contact with the water. Qui-Gon stared down at it, blinking water back incredulously.

Dooku snorted, and flicked his own saber back up, pushing himself smoothly to his feet. Water streamed off his clothes in rivulets, and he twitched his head, shaking droplets from his ponytail before advancing on Qui-Gon. His smile was grim. "Clever, child. Except now you're lacking a weapon, and you've drenched us both." The vindictive emphasis Dooku lavished on the latter half of the statement was slightly chilling.

All the same, Qui-Gon was smiling in the sort of devil-may-care, wild way that usually he did when he knew he was up against a wall, and managed to look vaguely at ease, even as he cast about desperately for a new weapon. As if of its own accord, a long garden rake sailed out of the air and into Qui-Gon's waiting hands. He brandished it with decided flair. "Not quite!"

Dooku raised an eyebrow. Ridiculous. "Your choice, then." He spun his saber, and stepped forward.

Qui-Gon splashed backward, ducking around the ascending pools of the fountain. He clutched the rake, even as Dooku advanced, waving it at him in a vaguely threatening manner. "I...think you're underestimating my abilities with this thing!"

Dooku rumbled a little laugh, steadily following Qui-Gon's circles around the fountain center. "Are you going to weed me, then?" He plunged forward with his lightsaber just as Qui-Gon brought the rake up horizontally to block. The laser cut cleanly through the wooden handle, leaving the younger Jedi with two pieces and yet again, no weapon.

Dooku sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "Thoroughly amusing, Padawan, but give it up." The tip of his lightsaber danced golden lights on Qui-Gon's throat. "Do you fold, or must I go through the tiresome process of actually leaving a burn?" The Master watched his student consider. It wasn't that Dooku wouldn't hurt Qui-Gon, or deliberately cause him pain to teach a lesson, but the idea of marking an unarmed, defeated enemy simply for technicality seemed unsporting.

He saw him gulp, and lowered his blade slightly. "Well?"

Qui-Gon promptly hurled the pieces of his broken rake at Dooku and tackled him. 

Chaos broke loose in the fountain. Dooku's saber came sweeping downward to strike away at Qui-Gon's attack, but with all the suicidal glory of a last ditch effort, the boy ducked under it, and grabbed Dooku's knees. There was another topple, and a splash, and some attempted throttling, before finally Dooku ended up pinning his apprentice to the side of the fountain, one hand corkscrewing a pressure point in Qui-Gon's neck, the other bending back a thumb. 

_"Fold!" _

"I fold!" Qui-Gon's face was very red, but he was grinning, even as Dooku released him with a splash.

The Master shook his head, spraying water lightly, and stepped neatly from the fountain, gathering his drenched dignity around him like a cloak. "We're…we're certainly done here. We ought to get back up to the Palace before things run amuck in our absence." He hesitated, and then turned to offer his soggy Padawan a hand out of the fountain.

Qui-Gon took it, much too good-natured to hold resentment over the particularly brutal nature of their battle. Of course, there was a comfortable level of normal antagonism and competition at which they both functioned and interacted, so it might have just as well been that Qui-Gon was used to it, more than anything. Still. He was such a rare creature, and Dooku couldn't help but feel a tiny stab of fondness, as the boy replied, smiling, "Yes, Master."

Dooku paused to give his apprentice a careful once-over, shading his eyes from the misty rain. "Ah. I got you."

"Oh." Qui-Gon twisted around to look at his shoulder, which sported a fresh burn.

"Let me see." Dooku pursed his lips, frowning at the wound.

"No, I...ah–" Qui-Gon shooed him off defensively. "Don't touch it!"

"Oh, for the stars. You didn't even notice until I said something!" 

"It's just a little mark." The boy scampered up the path a way, out of his mentor's reach. "I'm only happy you remembered to turn your saber settings down, this time."

Dooku made a soft noise of scorn. "You always bring that up. I thought we had agreed to never speak of it again. How many times must I apologize before you cease to hold it over me?"

"A few more, yet!" Qui-Gon threw back, merrily.

"Mm, you're confined to the quarters for the rest of the afternoon, then." 

"I—are you serious?" Qui-Gon had stopped skipping about the path, and turned, looking back at his Master rather dismally. 

"Does it seem the sort of thing I would joke about?" 

"I..." Qui-Gon gulped. "You're…you're confining me for reminding you that you nearly killed me, once?"

"No," Dooku answered smoothly, wringing excess water from his sleeves. "I'm confining you for cheeking me. And for ruining my earlier espionage with Lasteera. And for breaking that rake; you know, that was property of the Great Palace of Trisstar, and you cannot go about flinging the property of sovereign planets into my lightsaber. It leaves a bad impression."

"But I was going to go eat. I'm absolutely starving." Qui-Gon complained, flopping down on the soggy ground somewhat rebelliously.

Dooku looked down disdainfully for a long moment, before he could stand it no longer, and launched into lecture. "Qui-Gon, you're in training to become _a Jedi_, for the merciless stars! It is high time you learned to do things yourself. It may come as a shock to you, but I'm not always going to be around to feed you–"

"You don't feed me now!"

"–like some...squawking...squalling bird nestling! You must learn to..."

Qui-Gon interrupted him with a mournful, and yet, perfectly pitched _'peep.'_

Dooku glared, until he could take it no longer, and had to turn away to hide a smile. He managed to keep his voice even and icy, though, shaking his head a little. "You're acting like a child." 

"I know. I'm sorry." He sounded rather defeated now. 

Dooku reached up, plucking a few pears from one of the orchard trees growing over the pathway, and tossing them into his apprentice's lap. Then, with a brief hesitation, he bent to sit beside him. It occurred to him, out of nowhere, that Qui-Gon _was_ a child.

"The election ceremony is tonight." Dooku stated, after a moment of sitting in silence. "A masquerade ball. If your theory about this assassin proves true, that may be when he will strike."

Qui-Gon looked up from his pear. "Do you think so?"

"Mm. We'll see." He paused, and then smiled. "And there will be refreshments."

Qui-Gon laughed, and the aura of the Force around them seemed, somehow, more content.

Their silence grew as soft and cool as the rain. Qui-Gon gnawed the core of his pear, and watched Dooku meticulously pick spots off of his own with a fingernail. A distant noise, like a humming, rushing of ghost-static could now be heard, just faintly over the rain. Qui-Gon perked up.

"Master?"

"Hm?" 

"What's that sound?"

Dooku looked up from his pear. He paused, tipping his head back to look up into the sky, as if the answer were contained there. The rain trickled melancholy off his cheeks, and his voice was uncharacteristically soft as he finally replied. "The river."

It was the second time in a week that Qui-Gon had to dress up for an event that he did not particularly wish to go to, and it wore on the haphazard young man depressingly. After stripping out of his soaked set of tunics, he had brooded around the quarters for the entirety of the afternoon, wearing his dress tunics out of laundry necessity. It wasn't that they really limited much of his mobility, being of Jedi make, but the principle of the thing bothered Qui-Gon. He wanted to stretch out and run, and move, and being locked indoors with nothing to do but sit about in dress tunics and watch Dooku alternatively stare at nothing, or reread documents on his datapad could not be good for him.

Presently, Dooku exhaled, tossed the datapad aside, and left for his own room, presumably to find his own dress tunics. This occasion—for lack of a better word, Qui-Gon thought darkly—was supposed to be attended with some kind of mask or costume. Trisstar tradition had dictated that the festivities before election day were to be carried out in disguise; a merry nod to the freedom of the secret ballot.

Qui-Gon had firmly decided that he was going as himself. It wasn't as if he was voting, and anyway, the Jedi were to be there for security. Blending in with the other party-goers was not exactly the effect they were hoping to achieve, he reasoned. Besides, he didn't have a mask, unless he wanted to cut up a bed linen, and then Dooku would certainly saber him for further vandalizing Trisstar royal property. And he didn't want to look silly, either. Masks!

The Padawan was amusing (and terrifying) himself by picturing Dooku's face, upon learning of an imagined sheet-destruction, when the man himself appeared in the hallway once more, dressed to go. Qui-Gon was forced to do a double-take.

He had actually dressed up.

It was all somewhat surreal, and yet, Qui-Gon had to admit, he had never seen Dooku looking so grand. The eternal, short black cape was back, fixed at his white throat with some intricate silver clasp. Somehow, through means fair or foul, Dooku had procured an elaborate black mask, which fitted over his nose and eyes and gave him a look that was thoroughly gallant and roguishly disreputable. His boots seemed absurdly shiny.

Qui-Gon blinked at him for a few moments, and then finally found his voice. "What…what are you dressed as?" 

For all his regalia, the Master seemed unruffled. Swishing his cape, he turned, meeting Qui-Gon's bright eyes with dignity. "Ah, I am simply going as the Count Dooku of Serenno."

Qui-Gon laughed appreciatively, looking over Dooku's costume again and nodding. "Count Dooku...oh, that's a really good one, Master. You know, you look like you could be a Count. Did you just come up with that just now?"

"Ah-" Dooku paused in his lofty-cape-swishing to stare at Qui-Gon. "Qui-Gon. You...you do know that's really my title, don't you?"

"Hm?" 

"Count Dooku. On Serenno I'm...heir...to..." He sighed, trailing off at the uncomprehending look in Qui-Gon's eyes. "Never mind. What are you going as?"

He hastily tried to explain an abridged version of the logic he'd used for his lack of a costume, but it was very difficult to take his generally stoic Master seriously when he looked so…brilliantly mad. Eventually, Dooku cut off his dithering excuses, and hustled him out the door; he was very intent on not being late this time.

They went through the gardens, without any spying interludes this time, although Qui-Gon still had the disconcerting feeling that they were being watched. The hallway where Tormarius had died had been discretely closed off, blocked by bright panels displaying the smiling, benevolent face of the Monarch. The scorch marks were hidden by elaborate rugs.

Qui-Gon had scarcely a moment to contemplate the irony of this before they swept inside the Great Hall. The boy rather lost his breath.

---TBC...---

And I know; I win for the most awkward stopping place ever. : )


End file.
